Friend of a Friend
by Jesse Cullen
Summary: When murders styled after urban legends begin taking place at Stanford, Dean shows up to assist Sam after months of being apart. As the brothers work to stop the killer and repair their relationship, they find themselves the killer's targets. Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

The young woman was driving down the dark and rainy highway, squinting through her windshield to try and see through the torrential downpour that was currently pummeling the California Coast. Short, mousy hair framed a heart shaped face that was currently furrowed in concentration. She'd never been one for driving through thunderstorms like this and she expected it to get worse as the night progressed. Every so often she glanced downwards towards the high beams now splaying light across the path ahead, as though afraid they were turned off.

She shivered as unpleasant memories came back to her. Her petite hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. The same feeling of guilt that always flooded through her whenever she thought about that incident seemed to momentarily seize her like a vice and she closed her eyes, praying for the feeling to be over. The loud blaring of a horn caused her eyes to snap open and she veered to the right, having gone over the line and nearly slammed head on to the SUV that now sped past her.

Her nerves on end, she pressed a button on her stereo and tuned into the Stanford University Radio Station, the nearest signal she could find way out here on the highway.

"You're listening to Up Late with Sasha," said a husky female voice, "and we're on the line with...Lisa. What juicy secrets have you got for me, hun?"

The girl rolled her eyes and switched to her CD player before she could hear any of the lurid tales the caller would undoubtedly spill. She'd heard tell of the kinds of things people called into midnight sex shows with and she was in no mood to listen to any kind of botched attempt at sex tonight. The lilting, familiar opening piano chords caused a smile to play across her lips and she unconsciously found herself singing in her off key, off tempo voice.

"Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never comin' round."

As she sped along through the slick streets, she saw the orange glow of a gas station through the rainfall. A glance at her fuel gauge told her that this was a lucky break as she was nearly out of gas. Strange. She could've sworn she'd left with a full tank. Sighing inwardly at the minor delay, she pulled into the gas station and shut the stereo off, not really keen on having a late night gas station attendant snickering at her taste in music.

There weren't any other cars at the gas station. There were barely any other vehicles on the road this late. The station itself was large, and doubled as some kind of repair garage. The two gas pumps were almost as ancient as the building itself and she suddenly felt apprehensive about who would be working here at this time of night. But, any port in a storm. She glanced out the window trying to see if anyone was in the office when a tap on her window caused her to jump and let out a small scream.

She turned in her seat and saw a grubby, tall and lanky man with a length of stringy hair peering in at her. He was wearing mechanic's overalls which bore the name of the gas station and seemed to be waiting for her to roll down her window. She obliged, but felt inwardly nervous. This was not the kind of scenario she wanted to find herself in. Especially after what had happened all those months ago.

"C-c-can I h-h-help you?" the man asked with a stutter that immediately made her heart sink. This was getting better and better. She dug in her purse and pulled out a credit card which she handed to the man.

"Umm...full serve, please." she said, trying her best not to sound bossy.

The man took a long look at her credit card and then nodded. She rolled up her window and looked out the windshield, anything to get away from the creepy thin attendant. She did not notice the man stop mid-turn and look intently through the back passenger window. If she had she would have noticed his eyes widen with fear. The next second, however, he disappeared into the small gas office. The young woman continued staring forward, wanting nothing more than to get out of here.

To her relief the man came out not thirty seconds later, hunched against the rain and the wind. She rolled her window down and reached to take her credit card, but he did not give it.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"Th-th-th-the c-cr-credit card c-c-company. On the ph-phone. Your c-c-c-card has b-been denied."

She felt her heart sink. This was definitely not going well. Her credit card couldn't have been denied. She worked damn hard to make sure she never maxed it out. However, she did not want to enrage the man by a flat refusal, so she nodded and, when his back was turned, dug in her purse for a small can of pepper spray which she hid up the sleeve of her jacket.

Sprinting through the storm, she made it into the gas office, which was cramped and lead right into the massive garage. It smelled of gasoline, rubber tires and stale beer. The man was standing next to an old fashioned rotary phone. The receiver was off the hook and the man gestured nervously to it before looking out the window at her car again. Gripping the pepper spray tighter in her hand, she picked up the receiver...only to hear the dial tone.

She turned to the man who suddenly moved forward with such speed that she shrieked in fright and held the can in front of her.

"DON"T TOUCH ME!" she cried, spraying him in the eyes. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Stopping only to pick up her credit card, the young woman turned but found the door locked. She pivoted, avoiding the man who was now on the ground clutching at his face, and picked up the telephone, hurling it through the window.

"WAIT!" the man cried out as she hopped over the window sill and rushed back out into the storm. But she did not listen. She ran to her car, wrenched the door open and jammed the key in the ignition. She was about to drive away when the attendant slammed against the hood, causing her to scream.

"WAIT!" he yelled again. She put the car in drive and stepped on the gas. The man jumped out of the way in time to avoid being run over. As she drove off into the night, she did not hear him scream, "THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE BACK SEAT!"

She felt the tears mix with the rain water as she sped as fast as she could away from the gas station. Her heart was racing and her mind was still trying to catch up with what had happened. Trying not to think what that man might have done to her, she pressed play on the stereo again and felt herself calming down. As the song played, she felt her heart rate return to normal and was soon singing along.

"Turn around bright eyes."

It was only after she sang this that her own bright eyes happened to catch a movement from the back seat in the rear view mirror. She glanced up in time to see the hulking dark figure behind her seat. She gasped and slammed on the breaks in enough time for the figure, who wore a dark fur lined parka pulled over their face, to raise a two bladed axe and swing. The axe connected with her neck, drowning any attempt at a scream. The blade tore through flesh and bone and smashed through the driver side window, sending glass and blood everywhere. Her head went flying off her shoulders, through the window and landed with a thud on the slick road next to her car, her eyes staring ahead in surprise.

Sam Winchester's own bright eyes fluttered open. Lying on his double bed, he glanced to his left and right, trying hard to get his mind straight. He felt his heart beating a thousand miles and could still hear the scream and sound of shattered glass. That dream...that nightmare had been so real he felt as though he'd been sitting in the passenger seat with that poor woman.

Sitting up, the eighteen year old looked around his dorm room. It was dark and he could hear the rain pounding against the windows. Low rumbles of thunder and the odd flash of lightning almost made him feel like he was still in the dream. He raised a hand unconsciously to the back of his neck and rubbed it, almost afraid that he'd feel an axe stuck there. But all was normal. Sighing, he got to his feet and switched the lamp on.

The dorm room he shared with his roommate Paul Gardener was as neat as the two young men tried to keep it. Sam's side of the room was messier than studious Paul's, but that was to be expected. Growing up with demon hunters had somehow affected his sense of organization. Some of his shirts were lying on the floor and he noticed that his books had fallen out of his bag. He got up to right them and noticed one in particular, the cover of which had an illustration of a young woman looking in the rear view mirror of her car and seeing a shadowy figure with an axe in the back seat.

Sam ran a hand through his untidy brown hair and sighed. Of course he'd had that dream. His folklore professor had told the class to read this book, _An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_, to gain some background knowledge before they began their new topic the next day. Not that many of the students needed it. Most of the people on campus had heard the urban legends listed in the book. Sighing again, Sam tucked the book into his book bag and turned to head back to bed. It was nearly eleven at night and he had to get up early to meet his friends in the lounge.

Sam turned back to his bed and was about to crawl back under his sheets when a flash of lightning illuminated the room. In that brief moment, Sam saw that Paul's bed was empty. He frowned at this. It wasn't unusual for his roommate to disappear at odd hours. Paul was a leading reporter for the Stanford Student Newspaper, and was more than likely out following some kind of hot lead. Well...hot for a university. Most of Paul's articles tended to deal with mundane things that were of no real importance. Sam felt bad for him. Paul was enthusiastic about his work, maybe a little too enthusiastic and yet he never seemed to show what he was really made of.

Taking a deep breath, Sam crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, the lamp still casting an orange light over everything. He'd been at Stanford for over a semester now and was having a generally good time. He'd made himself more friends than he'd ever had during any year of his basic education. He'd gotten close to a few of them. Very close to one especially. Of course that had ended a little more sourly than he'd intended. But still...he was having a great time and was actually happy, which was pretty good for someone who had run away from his only remaining family to be at Stanford in the first place.

Sam didn't like to think back to the event that had made him run. Granted, growing up having to live with your father and older brother always running off to fight demons when you needed help with your homework wasn't what he'd call a stellar childhood. He'd learned a lot from his dad and from Dean and was grateful for that. But now that he tasted normalcy, he wasn't keen on going back.

Especially not after what had happened between himself and Dean. Thinking about it, even now, only caused a tight feeling of pain to form in the pit of Sam's stomach. It had all started so perfectly too. It was easy when they'd first started nearly four years ago. He and Dean had always been closer than close, having only one another to rely on most of the times. Sam had looked up to Dean, had gone to him for protection even when their father was around. While it wasn't exactly natural for things between them to have developed the way they had, he had found it incredibly easy. They'd had to hide it from those few people they knew, especially their father. But Dean had always said that once they were out on their own...then things would be easy. They wouldn't have to worry so much.

And in the naive idealism of youth, Sam had believed him. To Sam, Dean was always able to make things happen. He'd never counted on Dean being too chicken shit to actually leave dear old Dad's side when Sam had finally asked him if they could finally get out on their own together.

Rolling onto his side, Sam looked at the small silver picture on his night side table, the one of him and Dean at the beach…the one that had been taken only a few days before all he'd thought they'd had had gone to hell in a proverbial hand basket. He and Dean were smiling brightly in the picture, Dean jump-hugging him from behind, his soft green eyes shining with mirth. Sam's smile was more subdued, but his own eyes were on Dean.

His eyes had only ever been on Dean. But that wasn't good enough. It never had been. Not when Daddy was around. Sam still couldn't understand why Dean had chosen him over Sam. All his life, Sam had been instructed on the dangers of the world in which they operated. He'd had to see things no child should see and the whole time was expected to just deal with it. He knew how to use guns and knives and had an extensive knowledge of the arcane. What most people called child raising John Winchester called training, and Sam hated his father for it and would always hate him for it. And when Dean had done what he had done, he'd made it perfectly clear to Sam just who he thought was more important.

Sam felt the slough of emotions welling up in him like a geyser ready to burst. Hurt, anger and sorrow, all of these threatened to overtake him and he took a deep, long breath to calm himself down. He couldn't let the dam burst. The one he'd been building ever since he'd come here. It nearly had once or twice and he didn't want to risk his new friendships for anything.

He shut the lamp off, rolled over and closed his eyes. Whatever had happened in the past was the past and that's where he preferred it to be. He had a huge new vista of opportunity at Stanford and the fact that he'd made friends, real friends, was enough to let him know that he'd made the right choice by coming here. He'd forgotten about that dream now, and attributed it to coincidence, something he'd started believing in again when he'd first come here. Just before he dozed off though, he did wonder a little bit. He didn't worry. He just wondered if maybe it were possible for that dream to have been something more. After all, just because urban legends had never really happened didn't mean they never could. He shook that thought off and in a moment was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the storm.

He was sound asleep when his roommate Paul snuck quietly into the room around dawn and stuffed his dark green, fur lined parka into the back of the closet they shared before quietly getting into his own bed.

Sam forgot about the dream when he woke up the next morning. When he finally shut off his alarm clock and sat up in bed, he was aware that Paul was up and getting things ready for his first class. A good looking guy with a sharp, thin face and cropped black hair, Paul had a look about him that screamed ambition. Just the way he moved was enough to tell you that this was someone who would do whatever it took to get to where he wanted too.

"Hey." Sam said.

Paul grinned. "Good morning sunshine." he said, his brilliant blue eyes crinkling. "Have a nice sleep?"

Sam shrugged as he went to the closet to pick out some clean clothes for the day.

"I guess."

"That god damn storm woke me up." Paul grumbled, packing a small camera into his bag.

Sam, who had just selected his school sweater and a pair of jeans suddenly remembered waking up last night. He looked over his shoulder at Paul, not noticing the fur lined parka in the back of the closet.

"Where did you go last night?" Sam asked.

Paul paused for the briefest moment and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Stanley Hall." he said.

"Seriously?" Sam asked incredulously. Stanley Hall was an abandoned dormitory house that had been shut down twenty five years ago after a brutal murder that had been committed. Some people claimed it was haunted. Sam, with his knowledge of all things dark and eldritch knew better than that. Still, the place was pretty damn creepy sitting all alone on the edge of campus with boarded windows.

Paul shrugged again, brushing passed Sam and taking a black jacket out of the closet.

"Yeah. I wanted to do a piece on the anniversary of the massacre for the paper. I got a few shots that I think might make it a little more exciting than it actually sounds. The lightning has a way of adding atmosphere."

"See any demon pigs?" Sam asked, pulling his sweater over his head. Again he was joking. Most people knew the Amityville Horror was a big fat hoax. He knew it wasn't; just a standard hallucinatory demon making an upper middle class family see things. That's what his dad had told him.

"Nope." Paul replied. "Well, unless you count Damon."

Sam stopped in the middle of pulling on his jeans.

"What the hell was he doing there?" Sam asked, trying not to sound interested in the slightest. He doubted Paul knew anything about his history with the campus practical joker who was now a certified asshole fraternity brother.

Paul shrugged once more and hoisted his book bag over his shoulder.

"Probably fucking a raccoon for all I know." He paused before heading out the door. "That would make a good human interest piece: Local Frat Boy Caught in Bestiality Scandal. Priceless."

Sam chuckled nervously and then picked up his own book bag.

"Going to the lounge?" he asked Paul as they headed out into the hallway.

Paul shook his head. "Can't. I need to get these photos developed."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Paul, it's the twenty first century. What the hell are you using a dark room for?"

"Atmosphere." Paul said with a chuckle. "Besides I like the red glow."

The two of them rounded the corner and went down a flight of stairs and finally made it to the doors outside. Once they were outside, Sam breathed the clean smell of spring rain. The pavement was still wet despite there not being a dark cloud in sight. The rain must have stopped only a few hours ago. Students were out and about, sitting on the banisters of stairs and hanging out before the daily grind began. He smiled to himself. This was normal. This was what he wanted.

Sam headed off towards the student lounge which was at the other end of the quad. He noticed Paul was following him.

"What about those photos?" Sam asked with a cheeky grin. "All alone and undeveloped."

"They'll survive for a while." Paul said, his eyes glued to the nearby parking lot. Sam followed his gaze and saw that two police cars were parked there and several officers were talking with the dean and members of campus security. Sam could almost see the reporter instincts in Paul spring into action.

"I'll catch up." he said and hurried off towards the parking lot. Sam rolled his eyes and continued on towards the student lounge. He'd have a little time before his first class to hang out with his friends, maybe even get a cup of coffee and a bagel.

The lounge was full of students, some of them sitting down to breakfast and chatting, others doing some last minute studying. It being late April, they were preparing for the final exams which were weeks away. When Sam entered, his eyes went right to the seats by the fireplace where he could see several people gathered. A petite girl with bushy brown hair smiled brightly at him and gestured for him to sit. Sam held up a hand and jerked his head to the cafe. She nodded and went back to talking with the others.

Sam ordered a cup of coffee and, after a particularly loud gurgle from his stomach, added a cinnamon roll to his order. After paying, he turned and was about to go and join the others by the fireside when he heard a report on the nearby radio.

"...once more, police are investigating the grisly and bizarre death of Michelle Mancini, a nineteen year old woman who was traveling to Stanford University late last night when she was apparently murdered in her car. Police have reason to believe that the assailant was hiding in the backseat in wait for Ms. Mancini who was seen by gas station attendant Michael McDonnell minutes before her death. Ms. Mancini's decapitated corpse was found..."

Sam felt the coffee cup slip from his hand and shatter on the floor, spilling hot coffee everywhere and sending ceramic purple shards in all directions on the linoleum. People in the nearby area stared at him, some whispering to each other, but Sam didn't notice them. That radio report...it matched his dream perfectly.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stood there, a cold dread seizing hold of him that was in stark contrast with the hot coffee that was spreading in a puddle under his feet. He should have known better than to doubt a dream like that. His father and Dean had always told him that dreams were important, his especially. He'd had a knack for having prophetic dreams as a child, although he'd worked hard to suppress them. But if he'd just been a little less stubborn maybe that girl could've had a chance.

_Don't be stupid_, he thought bitterly, _there's no way you could've stopped that from happening._ He shook himself out of his stupor and bent down to pick up what pieces of ceramic he could manage. He knew there wasn't a chance that he could've helped Michelle Mancini. He'd been fast asleep when she'd been murdered, miles away without a care in the world. Even if he had known earlier, the chances of him actually being able to help her in any way were practically impossible.

"Leave that." said a soft voice. Sam looked up to see Brenda Bates looking down at him, her pale blue eyes shining in concern. "Mr. Creepy Janitor can pick it up later."

Sam nodded and got to his feet, towering over the petite girl whose bushy brown hair framed her pretty face. Brenda had been the first person Sam had met when he'd come to Stanford. She was a sophomore and had transferred from some college in the East at the beginning of the year. She and Sam shared a close friendship only rivaled by the one she shared with Sam's girlfriend Natalie Simon, who was looking over her seat at him now.

"You okay?" Brenda asked as they moved towards the seats by the fireplace, side stepping the broken pieces of Sam's coffee mug.

"That report on the radio..." Sam said, feeling increasingly awkward for the way he'd reacted.

Brenda bit her lip and glanced at him sympathetically. "Yeah." she said softly, "That poor girl. I wonder if anybody here knew her?"

"I doubt it." Sam sighed as he sat down on the sofa next to Natalie. "Sounds like she was transferring here."

"Who?" Natalie asked, turning her brown eyes to Sam in curiosity. The red head was Brenda's best friend. It was amazing how fast they'd gotten to know each other in the time it took Brenda to settle in this year. It had been Brenda who had introduced Sam to Natalie after Sam's first romantic entanglement had gone south. Despite the fact that they were admittedly going steady, it was remarkable how little time they actually spent together. Brenda and Natalie were tight and that meant that Sam and Natalie could only get together alone when Brenda was busy. Not that it bugged Sam too much. Natalie was nice enough, but neither of them seemed really interested in the relationship which wasn't going anywhere.

"That girl on the radio report," Brenda said in answer to Natalie's question. "The one who got axed last night."

"Oh..." Natalie looked around uncomfortably. Sam moved to put his arm over her, but she shifted away almost unconsciously and stared off towards the speakers mounted on the wall. Over the general murmur of conversation, Sam could tell that the report had ended. For some reason, Natalie's small refusal of his comfort caused Sam to feel slightly hurt, which was odd. He usually just attributed Natalie's attitude regarding their relationship to her being too busy or involved with Brenda. Then again, Natalie didn't know a lot of things about Sam. He didn't know a lot of things about her when it came down to it.

"It's really creepy when you think about it," said a husky voiced blonde girl sitting on the couch opposite Sam and Natalie. She was a pretty, curvy young woman with long blonde hair and a face shaped like a strawberry. Her eyes were also now fixed on the speaker and she was showing no interest in the subtle caresses the tall man beside her was giving. "That murder...you know...it sounds just like that one urban legend."

"Which one's that Sasha?" Natalie asked quickly.

Sasha rolled her eyes at Natalie. "You know...the one about the killer in the backseat. I mean, that girl couldn't have known that the murderer was in the car with her until she left the gas station. My mom still checks the backseat of her car because of that story."

Brenda shivered. "Maybe the killer snuck into the car when she while she was at the gas station."

"The cops said that the gas station attendant said there wasn't anybody else around," the man beside Sasha said.

Sam bit his lip. He felt like telling the others about the dream he'd had, but he had a feeling that they'd either regard him with skepticism or ridicule. Well…maybe not Sasha. She was the most understanding of the group. A junior, Sasha was also the most open out of all of Sam's friends, working towards a degree in sexual psychology and also working as the late night sex therapist for the campus radio. Her interest in sex was founded in genuine curiosity. As she'd told Sam once, it was fascinating to her that something so basic and physical could have such an impact on people's lives. She wanted to know why people found sex so intriguing. Despite this somewhat risqué career choice, Sasha was incredibly motherly, especially towards Sam, who thought of her as a big sister.

He could say less for her boyfriend, who was now kissing the side of Sasha's neck despite her look of annoyance. Parker was a fraternity brother and the one who'd been responsible for the change in Damon. He was every bit as much an asshole as it was possible to be and seemed to like being with Sasha because of her interest in sex, although Parker's interest was admittedly more physical than Sasha's was. A tall guy with thin brown hair and a penchant for wearing sweater vests, Parker especially enjoyed heckling Sam, but knew better to do it when Sasha was in earshot.

Taking a deep breath, Sam reached into his book bag and pulled out An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends and turned to the chapter detailing the Backseat Killer. It wasn't exactly necessary. As he'd recalled last night, most people knew about popular urban legends like this one. Skimming through the story, he discovered that details of the murder matched the story pretty closely. The only difference being was that in most tales, the young woman usually escaped death when the gas station attendant told her about the person in backseat right after they entered the office.

"Put that away." Parker said scornfully.

Sam frowned. "Geez Parker. Just because you can pass classes with stunning good looks and charisma doesn't mean the rest of us can."

Parker glared at Sam and was about to snap back when Brenda sat up straighter in her seat.

"Hey Paul." she said brightly.

Sam turned and saw Paul walking towards where they were sitting. He felt Natalie sit up a little straighter next to him. _Why the hell are we even going out in the first place_? He thought. _Oh right, because if I'm with her that means I don't have to deal with Damon._

"Hey." Paul said with a nod towards Brenda.

"Find anything out?" Sam asked, recalling that Paul had gone towards the area where the cops and campus officials were gathered.

Paul shrugged and plopped himself into the only remaining seat. "Only as much as the rest of the campus seems to know. Some poor girl was killed in the style of the Backseat Killer urban legend while on her way to Stanford. I thought they were trying to blow me off at first, but they really don't seem to have a clue."

"Ooh, listen to the Hardy Boy." Parker said. "Gonna put this in the paper, Peter Parker?"

"Maybe." Paul said. "Then again I could always run an article on sex crimes in fraternity hazings."

Parker sat up straight in his seat, his body tense, his face contorted in anger.

"You better fucking be kidding." he said in a low, but menacing voice.

Paul shrugged. The rest of the group was watching the exchange between them with varying emotions. Brenda and Sam both looked amused by the display of machismo, while Natalie looked nervous. Sasha out of all of them had the decency to look annoyed.

"I could always talk to some of the new brothers." Paul said in an off handed voice. "Like...Damon maybe."

"Damon's my friend." Parker said bitterly. "Why the fuck would he talk to you?"

"Jesus, Parker." Sasha said angrily, getting to her feet. "Can't you just get along with people for more than five minutes?" She turned on her heel and stormed out of the student lounge, Parker looking after her in confused anger.

"Great Paul," he said turning to the other man, "just fucking great." He got to his feet, glared at Paul and Sam and then stormed off after Sasha.

A brief moment of silence followed this. Then Brenda burst out laughing.

"That was, um, interesting." she said with a smile at Paul. "One more second and Parker would've been coming at you with his fists."

"No," said Sam. "He's got a reputation to protect."

"Reputation? For what?" Natalie asked, seemingly recovering herself.

"Were you really serious about the sex crimes in the frat hazing?" Brenda asked, giving both Sam and Paul significant looks. Sam felt his heart sink. Brenda was intuitive and more than once before he was sure she'd figured out that something had gone on between Sam and Damon.

Paul shrugged and then pulled out a tape recorder.

"It's possible." he said. "It would explain a lot." Then becoming suddenly businesslike he said, "I should try and get some interviews. Put the whole student reaction spin on the article."

"I thought you were writing an article about Stanley Hall." Sam said.

Paul grinned. "This is more current. I'll probably still run Stanley Hall, but that can wait for a bit. Remember the anniversary of the massacre isn't for a few days. Now," he pressed the record button of the tape recorder, "let's get some candid quotes from the devastated student population."

"Oh," Brenda leaned forward eagerly, her enthusiasm a bit to be near Paul a bit too obvious. "Um, I'm really devastated. This is a school wide-

"You guys come on." Natalie said with a voice wracked with anguish. "This isn't funny. Somebody died."

Paul and Brenda had the grace to look ashamed of themselves.

"You okay?" Sam asked her quietly. Natalie looked up at him, her big brown eyes betraying the real anger and sorrow she was feeling. For a brief moment, Sam felt as if there really could be some kind of stronger connection between them. It was moments like this when he really wanted to have a better relationship with Natalie, even though he knew that it would be even more of a lie than they were already living.

She nodded. "I'm okay." she said softly. "I just...don't think its right to be making some kind of sensation out of this. She was a real person...she had friends and family and now...she's just...gone."

"I'm sorry Natalie." Brenda said softly.

Natalie grinned at her friend. "It's alright. Let's just...give it a rest for a moment." She glanced at Paul who quickly tucked the tape recorder back into his bag.

Sam sighed and then checked his watch.

"We better get going." he said. "Wexler's not going to be happy if we're late."

They all got to their feet, Paul nodding at Sam, Natalie and Brenda before heading off. Brenda stared after him longingly.

"He's so adorable." Brenda said with a sigh. "So much dedication to the paper. And he's got a nice ass too."

"Brenda, he's my roommate." Sam reminded her.

"That's right!" Brenda said, turning to him with sudden enthusiasm. "Hey, you guys change in the same room right?"

"Yes." Sam said. "And in answer to what you're going to say, I've never seen Paul naked before."

"Shit." Brenda cursed.

They all laughed and turned and headed out of the student lounge towards the building where they had their folklore class with Professor Wexler. Students passed them on the green, most of them looking back to gaze at the distant faculty building where the police cars were still parked. Brenda, who was wearing a white string tank top with her school hoodie tied around her waist, shivered slightly at the slightly cool spring morning. She untied her sweater and pulled it over her head, yawning widely as she did so.

"Sleep much?" Natalie said with a small smile.

Brenda grinned. "You don't want to know what I was up to last night. The gory details might be too much for your pretty little head." She gave another small yawn and then said, "You know this couldn't be timelier."

"What?" Sam and Natalie asked at the same time.

"This murder. I mean it's kinda weird that there's an urban legend style murder the night before Wexler starts his seminar on urban legends."

"What you think he's the killer?" Sam asked wryly, knowing the small, studious Professor Wexler couldn't possibly be a killer, no matter how creepy he was. Still, he had to agree with Brenda. It was a very alarming coincidence. And coincidence was something that he was starting to believe less and less in. Ever since that dream turned out to be all too true he was starting to wonder whether or not his family's specialty might be helpful in dealing with this situation.

"This whole thing is impossible." Sam said as they headed up the stairs to the building. "It relies completely on coincidence. The killer would have had to know that Michelle Mancini would be alone, that she would run out of gas, stop at a gas station and, most importantly, not check the back seat of the car."

"Can we just please stop talking about this!" Natalie burst out angrily. 'It's bad enough that Paul is treating it like a one way ticket to a Pulitzer." She stormed off ahead of them and into the building. Sam and Brenda looked at each other, surprised by Natalie's reaction. It was natural for her to be upset about a murder, but it seemed like she was taking it personally.

"Do you think...?" Sam began.

Brenda shook her head. "No. No fucking way. She did not know that girl." She idly put her hand over the ring she wore around the chain on her neck. Sam had always admired the necklace, despite the ring being plain stainless steel. Brenda had been wearing it on the day they'd met and Sam could not recall ever seeing her without it.

"Right." Sam said, without really feeling any sense of acquiescence. He didn't know that much about Natalie, and the chances of her knowing that girl were pretty slim but then again he'd thought the same thing about that dream he'd had last night. He and Brenda followed Natalie into the building, neither of them saying anything more about the murder. They were just outside the door when Sam saw him, leaning against the wall, his gelled blonde hair shining in the florescent lights, his whole posture a complete testament to his personality; cocky and devil-may-care. He looked up when he saw Sam and Brenda, his blue-grey eyes locking on Sam's instantly. For a moment, Sam felt himself drawn as he had been when he'd first met him. But he knew better now.

Brenda glanced at Sam knowingly.

"I'll see you in there." She jerked her head toward the door of the classroom. "Hey Damon." she said, quickly passing by the boy leaning against the wall.

Sam took a deep breath. The hallway was empty; most of the people who entered this building at this time of day usually did so for the folklore class. He and Damon were completely alone now.

"Hey." Sam said in a falsely off hand voice.

Damon pushed himself off the wall and took a step forward. His eyes raked Sam's body for a moment before he wrapped his arms around Sam's neck. Not knowing if this was merely a very tight bro hug or something else, Sam didn't really know how to react, so he awkwardly patted Damon's back. But when Sam felt Damon's lips press against his throat, he managed to shove the shorter boy off of him. He looked at Damon guardedly.

"No." he said shaking his head. "Not now. Not ever again."

"Why?" Damon asked. "You can't fucking tell me that that didn't feel good, Sammy. That it only ever felt good."

Sam took a calming breath. It was no use denying that his heart hadn't increased a few beats when he'd felt Damon's lips against his neck. But he knew better than to let Damon in now.

"You're right," he said. "It did feel good. Right up until you hit pledge week." Sam took another deep breath and went on, "You made it real clear that you think the fraternity is more important so do me a favor and piss off. I need to get to class and so do you." Sam made to move passed Damon to the door, but he barely got an inch passed him when the blonde boy shoved him roughly up against the wall, holding him by his shoulders. Although shorter than Sam by a few inches, Damon had more muscle definition and Sam hadn't eaten much that morning and didn't feel up to brawling. He knew he could probably push Damon away again, but a part of him didn't want too. That one part of him that still clung to whatever it was they'd had at the beginning of the school year was kind of enjoying this. And when Damon's hand found its way to the front of Sam's jeans, he couldn't help but moan softly.

This was the part he missed. Damon was full of passion, which was probably why he was always joking around and acting on impulse. But just being near someone like this, having a reminder of what he and Dean had once shared was what kept Sam from the feeling of Damon on him. He and Natalie had never even made out. They'd never even kissed.

Damon's hand rubbed the bulge forming rapidly at the front of Sam's pants and he leaned his head back against the wall allowing Damon access to his throat. He didn't care anymore. All that Damon had put him through, it didn't matter as long as he could feel like this again, even for a moment.

The bell that chimed out the hours tolled from across the campus.

_No!_ His mind screamed, _don't fucking do this to yourself again!_

Sam leaned away from Damon and gently pushed his hand away from his crotch. He shook his head. Damon stared at him in wide eyed confusion, his baby blues reminiscent of the person he used to be. Then he slammed a fist on the wall behind Sam's head.

"Fuck." he swore. "Why are you doing this, huh?"

Sam maneuvered himself away from Damon.

"Because you're an asshole." Sam said simply. "You used to be real great, Damon. And then you went through pledge week and turned all frat boy on me. I don't know what the fuck your problem is but you changed. So no."

As Sam walked towards the door Damon called out, "You're a fucking cocktease, Sam! You know that!"

"Whatever." Sam muttered, pushing the door open and hurrying to his seat before Professor Wexler could call him out for being late. A moment later, Damon clambered in and took the seat behind Sam. For the first portion of the class, Sam could feel the other boy's eyes burning into the back of his head. Brenda, who sat next to him and beside Natalie, kept shooting him furtive looks. Damn her intuition.

William Wexler was a small, thin man with a pointed face that resembled a goat, made more evident by his grey goatee. His beady eyes and general demeanor were enough to keep a class attentive, mostly because most of them were slightly put off by him. Brenda had once compared him to Freddy Krueger due to his jovial creepiness. He wasn't exactly one of those strict disciplinarians. He tolerated joking as long as it was harmless and didn't disrupt the class too much. The fact that they all had to sit for three hours while he droned on about folklore was not lost on him.

Sam found him interesting. His fascination with sub-cultures and folklore reminded Sam of a grandfather for some reason. Having never known his own grandparents, Sam sometimes thought that his grandfather must have been like Wexler, but a little more masculine.

"Yesterday," Wexler said, turning on the projector, "we wrapped up general early American folklore. Today we're going to start on something much more complex." He clicked a button on the slide showed a young woman on a telephone with a rather intimidating man peering at her from the stairs behind her. "The urban legend," Wexler continued, "something that can be traced to the late fifties in popularity but has its origins rooted in early cultural fears associated with modernization."

He gave the class a knowing look from under his glasses. "How many of you bothered to even skim through the book I assigned?" Most of the class raised their hands. Wexler looked genuinely surprised. "Really? Was that before or after the unfortunate news about Michelle Mancini's death?"

The students gave each other uncomfortable looks. Sam glanced at Brenda who shook her head. Of course the class had probably only cracked the spine of the book after hearing about the details of Michelle's murder. Sam himself had only looked through it that very morning.

"Naturally," Wexler continued, "the manner of the murder is most...unusual. It follows the Killer in the Back Seat legend." He clicked the button again and the slide changed to the illustration on the cover of the book the students had. Sam shifted uncomfortably. Knowing how Michelle had died and having dreamed of it was incredibly unsettling. He noticed Natalie looked uncomfortable as well and thought back to what Brenda had suggested about Natalie knowing Michelle.

"Who can tell me what they know about this legend?" Wexler asked the class at large. For some reason Sam felt himself raising his hand. Wexler searched the smattering of raised arms before settling his gaze on the front row and nodding at Sam. "Mr. Winchester. Enlighten us if you'd be so kind."

Sam took a deep breath and prepared to rattle off what he knew when he heard the door open. Some last minute straggler must have just entered the class. Wexler peered into the back row and frowned.

"It seems we have a visitor." he said. Sam was about to turn to look when Wexler said, "Please, Sam. Begin."

"Well," Sam started, "it's usually a woman driving in her car late at night on an empty highway. She notices she's out of gas so she pulls into a gas station. The person working there creeps her out, and he comes back from trying to pay for her gas and tells her that her credit card has been denied and the company wants to talk to her. So she follows him and when he locks the door, she freaks out and runs back to the car and drives away before he can tell her that there's somebody in the back seat. When she's away from the gas station the murderer strikes and kills her."

The class was silent, their eyes on Sam. He turned to see Brenda looking at him with her eyebrows raised. A glance backwards showed him Damon sitting there looking slightly surprised. Even Professor Wexler was giving him a curious stare.

"At least...that's what I heard." Sam finished lamely.

Professor Wexler nodded. "An admirable summary, Mr. Winchester. However, most of the legends end with the attendant locking the woman in the gas station and telling her that he saw somebody in the back seat. She is not harmed. But in light of last night's tragedy, I assume many of you are under the impression that the legend has a much more grisly ending." Wexler's eyes lingered momentarily on Sam who felt very rattled. He felt like he'd told the contents of the vision he'd had last night rather than the actual urban legend. He knew that none of the others were aware of his...ability, but the fact that he'd described it so well must have unsettled them.

"Of course," Wexler continued, "this is only a prime example of how urban legends are impacted by society. They change with the times and events that mirror them. Now," he pressed the button again and the slide changed back to the young woman on the phone. "This is another popular one. A young woman is babysitting alone and begins receiving threatening phone calls, not aware that the person responsible is calling from another line inside the house from the room of the child she is supposed to be taking care of. The moral here speaks to many young women. Mothers, mind your children or harm will come your way."

"Maybe the moral is don't babysit." Brenda muttered to Sam and Natalie, both of whom giggled without realizing it. Professor Wexler heard them and turned to give Brenda a knowing look from behind his wire framed glasses.

"Miss Bates," he said. "I'll need your help for this next one."

Brenda's eyes widened and she looked to Sam and Natalie for help. When neither of them came to her aid, she sighed heavily and got up, standing next to Wexler in front of the class. He handed her small plastic pouch, which she regarded with apprehension.

"Can you tell me what these are?" he asked her.

"Pop Rocks." Brenda said, eying the candy nervously.

"Have some." Wexler said. Brenda gave him an apprehensive look and did not take the bag right away. "Don't worry," Wexler said with a small chuckle, "I'm sure you'll survive." There was a general laugh from the class. Brenda rolled her eyes, took the Pop Rocks and opened the bag, pouring some into her hand and then putting them in her mouth.

"Now," Wexler went on, reaching to the side of the projector and handing her a can of Cola. "Why don't you try some?"

"I don't think so." Brenda said, her mouth still full of the fizzy candy.

"Why not?" Wexler pressed.

"Supposedly," Brenda continued, "if you take Pop Rocks and soda it makes your, like, intestines and stomach explode."

"How do you know?" Wexler went on. "Did it happen to anyone?"

"Duh," Brenda said, "Mikey. From the Life Cereal commercials. Give it to Mikey, he'll it anything."

Wexler clicked the slide once more and the slide changed to a grinning boy in front of a bowl of Life cereal.

"What if I told you," Wexler went on, changing the slide once more to a smiling middle aged man, "that this was Mikey. Thirty five years old and living in Buffalo as an advertising executive. Would you take the soda then?"

Brenda shook her head.

"I'll take it!" Damon called out. He hopped down into Brenda's seat and then scrambled forward. "I'm not afraid to die!"

"Really?" Brenda muttered.

"You're very brave Mr. Brooks." Wexler said, ignoring Brenda's aside.

"It's just an urban legend, isn't it?" Damon said with a wise ass grin.

"I'm sure that's exactly what Michelle Mancini thought." Brenda muttered. Sam saw Natalie's eyes widen with surprise.

Damon gave Brenda his trademark goofy grin and then took the Pop Rocks from her. He gulped the rest of the candy and then took the soda from Wexler. He downed it in one and then stood there nodding, his eyes fixed on Sam who suddenly felt himself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

"It's good." he said, his mouth full of candy and cola.

Brenda rolled her eyes.

"You see," Wexler said, "absolutely nothing to fear-

Damon stumbled forward making a gagging sound. He grabbed the front of Brenda's shirt and toppled over, discolored foam dribbling from his mouth. The entire class was sitting back in their seats, horrified. Sam's eyes went wide with mingled fear and disbelief. Surely this couldn't be happening. Killers in the back seats of cars was one thing but Pop Rocks and soda? That was plain impossible. Unless of course the soda hadn't really been soda. Brenda's comment about Wexler's timing of the urban legend class in correlation with Michelle Mancini's murder suddenly took on a whole new meaning and Sam looked to Wexler with a new sense of dread.

Damon was on the floor now, his body twitching, green liquid spilling over the sides of his mouth. Brenda screamed and Wexler looked completely aghast. Even though Damon was a complete dick, he didn't deserve to have his intestines and stomach explode, not in front of the entire class at any rate. Sam couldn't move, he like the rest of the class, was frozen to his seat. He didn't want this to happen, no matter how much Damon had pissed him off. He was still wrestling with that increasingly small part of him that wanted Damon back.

"Somebody call 911!" he finally shouted.

He heard someone thundering down the stairs before Brenda yelled "WAIT!"

The entire class was deathly still, staring forward at Damon, who was flat on the ground. His shirt was covered in the soda-Pop Rock mixture and his eyes were wide and staring. Brenda leaned down and stared at him intently, her brow furrowed. Then...

"You bastard!" she said angrily, kicking him in the side.

Damon gave a whoop of laughter and sat up, smiling at the class. Those present who had the same maturity level as Damon laughed too, but most of them were staring at him in disgust and muttering darkly at his twisted sense of humor.

"Aw c'mon," Damon said, getting to his feet, "that was funny."

Wexler rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that demonstration Mr. Brooks." Wexler said wearily. "You better go back to your seat before Ms. Bates makes you an urban legend."

Brenda glanced sideways at Damon, her expression dark. She stroked the chain around her neck before giving Damon a shot to the shoulder with her small fist. The two returned to their seats and the class settled down. Sam shook his head at Damon as he went back to his desk, and Damon smiled at him with that infuriatingly charming grin. Sam turned to give him a glare and instead found himself looking to the back seat of the classroom where the last minute straggler was sitting.

It wasn't a student.

The person who had come in late and then thundered down the stairs during Damon's little episode wasn't a tardy student after all. It was a tall, well built young man, older than most of the students present but not by much. His mossy green eyes met Sam's from the back of the room and he gave him a wry smile that Sam had seen so many times before. The smile he'd been both praying to see and also never have to look upon again. He couldn't believe it. How the hell could he be here?

Dean ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

"Meet me after class." he mouthed at Sam.

Sam turned and sat in his seat, staring straight ahead, still not believing his eyes. But there was no denying it. Dean was here.

This couldn't mean anything good.


	3. Chapter 3

It took all of Sam's concentration not to look back at Dean for the remainder of the three hour class. Wexler prattled on about urban legends while most of the class listened attentively. Clearly Michelle Mancini's death had piqued their interest in the subject. On any given day, Sam would have been paying as much attention to Wexler's lecture as he possibly could. He enjoyed the class, and having had that vision last night he was keen on learning as much as he could about urban legends.

But now that he knew that Dean was here, actually here, he felt it increasingly difficult to be fully tuned in to Wexler's explanation of urban legends detailing cultural admonitions. Once or twice, he glanced back to where Dean was sitting, just to make sure that he really was there and that Sam, through some psychological defect, hadn't merely imagined his older brother's presence. But Dean was there, no denying it. He seemed to be paying more attention to Wexler's lecture than Sam was and a suspicion as to why his brother was there in the first place formed in Sam's mind.

_Of course_, he thought bitterly, _one tiny little urban legend style murder and he probably thinks there's an ancient entity at the foot of it_. Despite his initial shock and anger at Dean being at Stanford, he couldn't help but feel a little put out upon coming to this conclusion. He'd been hoping that Dean was there for him, although he didn't quite know why. He half laughed at his own stupidity for thinking that his brother, rife with worry at the news of a murder at Stanford, had come careening through the dark, stormy night like Sir Lancelot to the rescue. Dad had probably told him to come up here and handle the situation, maybe to even try and reason with Sam.

_And after just about nine months there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm letting that happen_, Sam reassured himself as Wexler finally dismissed them at the end of class.

"Remember," Wexler told the students as they alighted from their desks, "I want you to really read that book tonight. Try and get a better understanding about how urban legends affect our culture."

"They're certainly affecting it now." Brenda muttered, gathering her things and ignoring the scathing look Natalie gave her. "Someone out there must have been really attentive in Wexler's seminar last year." She glanced up at the back row and suddenly her whole demeanor changed. She stood up straighter; a smile playing over her lips, her eyes sparkling with the kind of interest Sam had only ever seen her reserve for Paul.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"Who's who?" Sam replied, knowing full well who she was talking about but giving the chance of him being wrong the benefit of the doubt.

"That tall glass of water at the back of the room. I think he's looking at me!" Brenda suddenly looked very excited and shook her bushy hair away from her eyes.

Sam sighed inwardly and then shook his head, deciding to throw caution to the winds.

"Tall guy? Lean muscular look? Dirty blonde hair with freckles and eyes the color of moss?"

"Yeah," Brenda answered, looking at him in surprise. "Do you know him?"

"If he's wearing layers then he's my older brother." Sam tugged his book bag over his shoulder, ignoring Brenda's look of shock. "Want to join me for lunch, Nat?"

Natalie shook her head. "Sorry. I'm going to go see Paul about something." Casting Sam an apologetic look, she stood up and hastily exited the room. Brenda was too distracted taking in Dean to pay much attention to what Natalie had just said. Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean wanted to talk and he'd rather speak to him in private than with Brenda tagging along and ogling him.

"Brenda, I think your best friend is making a move on your man." Sam said idly. Most of the students had left the class by now, with the exception of himself, Brenda, Damon and Dean. Wexler, who was putting away the slide projector, gave the remaining stragglers a curious stare and Sam felt keener than ever to get out of the building and talk to Dean.

"What?" Brenda said distractedly, looking around. "Hey, where's Natalie?"

"Most likely going to the newsroom." Sam said. Brenda's eyes widened and then she hastily pulled her sweater over her tank top, muttering something about hos over bros. She gave Dean one last look of interest before dashing out of the class. Shaking his head, Sam slung his book bag over his shoulder and made to leave when Damon stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's body tense. Years of being a hunter had given him the somewhat innate ability to read body language, and there was so much simmering tension between Damon and Sam that you didn't need to have a license to kill demons to see it.

"Sorry for that little stunt." Damon said and Sam was surprised the see that he both looked and sounded sincere. The soda and Pop Rock mixture had dried on his shirt, making the fabric sticky and greenish. It must have sucked sitting in class for three hours with that kind of crap drying on you. Then again, Damon had brought it on himself.

Sam shrugged. "You got your fifteen minutes." He made to move passed Damon, but the shorter boy put his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam saw Dean sitting up straighter in his seat, watching the two of them intently, ready to strike if necessary. Luckily for everybody involved, that would not be something Dean would have to resort too.

"Look," Damon said, looking Sam square in the eyes, "I know you think I'm the world's biggest dickhead right now..."

"Universe's biggest dickhead is more like it." Sam interjected.

"But," Damon went on as though he hadn't heard Sam, "there's a lot I'd like to talk to you about, okay? Will you just give me that for now?"

Sam looked into those blue-grey eyes and felt his resolve weakening. This could very well be another one of Damon's attempts to get with him again. But then again, he might actually have something to say. And God damn it if Sam didn't still have feelings for Damon, no matter how much of a colossal asshole he'd become. Sam glanced at Dean quickly. He thought of Dean's reaction to learning that Sam and Damon had been doing the horizontal tango together more than once at the beginning of the year. Would Dean even care? Would he be jealous? Hell, it would give Sam satisfaction to see how Dean would react once he learned that Sam was doing fine without him and Dad. Well...as fine as he could be. Looking back at Damon's imploring gaze, Sam felt the last of his defenses shatter.

"Okay," he said with a soft smile. "Not now though. I've got...another appointment."

Damon glanced at Dean and nodded. "Alright. Come by the frat house tonight around eight. We'll talk then."

"Don't make me regret this Damon." Sam told him warningly. In answer, Damon gave him his usual goofy grin and then turned and followed Brenda out of the class, the door banging ominously closed behind him and echoing through the empty classroom like a gunshot. Still by his seat in the front row, Sam looked up at his older brother who had gotten to his feet and was looking down at him with what could only be described as awkward expectation.

"Mr. Winchester?" Wexler asked behind him. "Can I help you with something?"

Not turning around, Sam shook his head. Taking a deep steadying breath, he mounted the steps to the door, completely ignoring Dean as he passed. He felt rather than saw his older brother follow him and did not turn to look at him or even acknowledge his presence until they were out of the psych building. He marched across the green, feeling Dean follow him, ignoring the calls of students he passed. He walked across the campus over to the bell tower, where he proceeded to mount the rickety old staircase to the top floor where the big bells swayed ominously overhead, creaking in the slight breeze. As they walked, Sam felt his anger mounting. How the fuck could Dean just come here and expect everything to be worked out? Did he even want to work anything out? What if he'd gotten involved with someone else?

_You mean just like you did_? The rational part of his brain said.

As he stood against the railings of the balcony that overlooked this area of the school, his eyes turned to the sky. He didn't know what he felt. The walk over here had served to build up his ire at Dean, but he knew the moment he turned around and looked into those big green eyes, he'd lose all of his resolve, much the same way he'd done with Damon back at class. What was it about eyes that always got to him?

"Sam..." Dean said tentatively.

His voice...Oh God, his voice. Sam had been longing to hear it for so long. Taking a deep breath, he turned, prepared to unleash holy hell on his brother. But when he finally stood and faced Dean and saw him looking so anxious, saw the small hope in his eyes, Sam's anger vanished. He rushed at Dean, throwing his arms around his big brother and holding him like he was going to fly into the atmosphere at any moment. To his immense relief, Dean did not pull way. He wrapped his strong arms around Sam and held him tightly, the way he had all those years ago when they'd first taken that one big step over the wall of brotherly love and into the realm of something much more intimate.

"God, Dean..." Sam whispered, inhaling the scent that was his older brother: leather, aftershave and sweat. The smell he wished he could bottle up and hang onto forever. His body shaking, Sam let his head fall on Dean's shoulder and was relieved when Dean did not object to the show of affection. Despite the anger that had been rising in him since class, he couldn't help but completely get lost in Dean's embrace. As angry as he'd been, he couldn't help but face the truth. He'd missed Dean. And now that he was here, Sam felt months of stress roll off of him like water off a duck's back.

He looked up into Dean's eyes and was shocked to feel tears spilling from his own. Dean had always had a better grip on his emotions than Sam...or at least that's what Sam had thought. He of all people knew that behind Dean's rough, macho exterior there was a sensitive soul. Not that Dean would ever admit to that.

"You look good Sam." Dean said with a smile.

Sam grinned, wiping at his eyes. "You too."

For a moment the two brothers just stood getting a good look at each other. Although it had only been eight months since Sam had least seen Dean, he was alarmed to see just how tired and care worn his older brother looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his jaw was peppered with unshaven stubble. His leather jacket hung looser off his frame than it had the last time Sam had seen him. Had his leaving really had that much of an impact on him?

Dean grinned nervously. "You alright?" Dean asked, his voice rife with concern.

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Just happy to see you is all."

Dean nodded, looking like he was stealing himself to say something. He bit his lower lip. "It's just...I heard about that girl...that Mancini girl...and I thought maybe you needed help."

Sam blinked again, his heart sinking. Of course Dean was only here because of the murder. He hadn't come here to see him at all. Mentally kicking himself, Sam assumed a tone of nonchalance and said, "Oh," not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean cocked his head to the side.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam said a little more firmly than he meant too. He felt the anger prickling his insides again and took another deep breath, looking up at the large bronze bells swinging overhead.

"Bullshit," Dean said. "You're pissed about something, so spill."

"Why bother?" Sam said, finally looking Dean in the eye, his own blazing angrily. "It's not going to change your mind."

"What the fuck Sam?" Dean looked surprised. "Don't be like that. There's something wrong and I wanna help."

"Great." Sam muttered. "After how many fucking months of not even answering the phone when I just wanted to hear your voice you suddenly show up. Maybe, just maybe I wanted you to be here for something else."

Dean looked down, his eyes bright.

"Sammy," he said softly.

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped. "You lost the right to call me that after you beat the shit out of me for nothing."

Dean looked back up at his brother, his eyes pained at the memory. Had he been trying to forget it this whole time? Sam had, but the extent of the emotional and physical damage had been too much for him to just sweep under the rug. There were still nights when he would dream of that day back in August when Dean had freaked out on him after Sam had pushed him to finally move out. Even in his dreams he felt the sting of Dean's punches, the mental anguish that he'd felt when his brother and lover had turned and walked out of the motel, leaving Sam on the floor broken and crying. He'd packed his bags that night and left for Stanford, having gotten the admission letter earlier that week. He'd ignored it in the hopes that Dean would find a place for them away from John. Just another wish that had come crashing down around his ears.

"Sam..." Dean said, his voice breaking, "you've got no fucking idea how much I hate myself for what I did." Sam's glare softened slightly when he saw the regret in his brother's eyes. "I know this might not mean a lot now," Dean continued, "but I've never forgiven myself, not for one fucking second, for what I did to you that night. When I got back to the motel and saw you were gone...I just...I lost it. I cried like a baby Sammy. I couldn't believe what I'd made you do. That I'd pushed you away. But it happened. And...and I'd like to start over...if that's okay."

Dean wasn't looking at Sam now. He was staring out over the quad as the bells swayed in the breeze, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Sam looked down at the wooden floorboards, his mind and heart racing. Dean was being sincere. He'd always been able to tell when Dean was just bullshitting and when he really meant what he said. And this...this was most definitely one of those times. Taking a deep breath, Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, rubbing it softly.

"Dean," he said quietly, "I...thank you for saying that. It...it really means a lot to me."

Dean said nothing. Dean was only ever good with the emotional stuff when Sam was around, but even then he still felt a need to maintain that wall of machismo. Finally he nodded and looked over at Sam, smiling.

"I didn't just come here for the murder, y'know." Dean said. "I wanted to see you. Really. I missed you baby."

Sam's eyes widened and Dean's did the same. He hadn't called Sam baby in months. The sheer fact that he'd used this endearment seemed to resonate with both of them and they locked eyes, stormy green meeting icy blue. In Dean's eyes, Sam was able to see the fear and hope and regret that Dean was trying so hard to hide. He sighed. He didn't want to be angry at his brother anymore, but the pain was still there, and the memory was etched into his mind.

He sighed.

"Dean," he said softly, "I'm happy that you're here. Happier than I'm letting on right now. But it's just...hard, y'know? I still want you more than anything and you made it really clear what you think of us and what we had. But I'll never, ever forget it and as much as I've tried moving on I can't and I won't." He inhaled deeply. "I'm not telling you to fuck off or anything. Having you here...it makes a lot of this easier. And I know that you also wanna get to the bottom of that murder. So I'll help. But I'll be God damned if I'm going to try and bury how I'll feel. Because whatever you may think, I know it's not wrong. I've never felt wrong about it." Sam leaned against the railing next to the staircase and looked back up at the bells. He knew the hour was going to toll soon and he had a study period next.

Dean stood motionless for a moment, staring at Sam, his eyes incredibly focused, his face an unreadable mask. After several moments of silence, he sighed and straightened up.

"Okay Sammy." he said, the habit of referring to Sam as such still not broken. "I understand."

Sam looked up at Dean and grinned, nodding.

"We better get out of here." Sam said. "The bell's going to ring soon and I'd rather keep my hearing."

Dean nodded and the two of them descended the rickety wooden staircase and made it out of the bell tower just in time for the bell to ring signaling the hour.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Sam asked Dean as they started across the green together.

"I drove." Dean said with a wise ass grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously though. Most people didn't find out about the murder until this morning." Sam pressed. "It'd be kind of hard to get here from Idaho in fourteen hours without magic."

"Idaho?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Who says I was in Idaho?"

"But that's where..." Sam trailed off and mentally smacked himself for being so naive. Idaho was where they'd been when he'd run away. The chances of Dean and John remaining there were virtually non-existent. Hunting kept them on the move, just one of the many things Sam resented about his family's calling. "Where were you then?" Sam asked.

"Redding." Dean answered, lowering his voice as they ducked into the library where Sam usually went to Study when he didn't feel like going back to the dorms. He tried very hard to ignore the lustful glances that were being thrown Dean's way.

"Redding!" He hissed in complete shock. Redding was only four hours away from Stanford. "Why the hell didn't you visit if you were that close?"

"Keep your voice down, dude." Dean said, shooting the librarian a furtive glance. "I've only been in Redding for a week. I was planning on visiting when I heard on the early morning news about that Michelle Mancini chick."

Sam glanced sideways at Dean as they found a secluded corner in Stanford's expansive old library. Dean had been planning on visiting him? He wasn't just here for the murder then. Sam smiled faintly as the thought helped to alleviate some of the tension he felt.

"I had to...bend the rules of the road to make it here as fast as I did." Dean said. Sam chuckled. Dean couldn't drive fifty-five. Not in his beloved Impala. Thinking of the big black beauty that was Dean's second love, Sam said, "How long had you been on campus before you went to my class?"

"Long enough to find out where the hell you were." Dean answered. "I jumped out of the car and pretty much tackled one of the security officers and asked where I could find you. Had to show them my license just to prove we were actually related."

_He wanted to see me so bad_ ,Sam thought, digging the urban legend book out of his bag, _he wanted to make sure that I was safe_. He could've smiled at that thought, but then that little nagging voice at the back of his head said,_ That's only because he's your brother and nothing more. _Sam shook his head. He didn't want to pay that voice any more attention than was possible, but there was a point there. As far as Dean was concerned, they were brothers and that was as far is it would and could only ever go.

Gritting his teeth, Sam handed Dean the book and watched as his older brother thumbed through it. Leaning back in his chair, Sam closed his eyes and tried hard not to think back to the day he'd run away. It had been warm, a bright August day thick with humidity and the threat of oncoming rain. John had gone out to research something or other related to their latest hunt and he and Dean had remained behind.

Sam had suspected there was something up with Dean for a while. He'd seemed more tense than normal and whenever Sam so much as touched him, he would look away, his jaw set grimly. In the stupidity of his youth, Sam had hoped that nothing more would have come of it. But he'd been terribly wrong. The moment he'd mentioned leaving John, Dean had gotten riled up. What started as a simple disagreement about finally flying the nest turned into a full out fight in which Dean had given Sam an earful about what was wrong with the way they'd been for the passed three and a half years. It had blown up when Sam had touched on the subject of John, and the real problem being that Dean was too ashamed to walk away from under his father's thumb. Dean had thrown Sam through the coffee table for that.

"Sam?" Dean's low concerned voice brought Sam back to the present with a jolt.

"Yeah?" he said.

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking at him from under those long eyelashes. Sam shook himself and realized he'd been holding the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip during his whole reminiscence.

He nodded. "I'm fine, Dean." Dean gave him a look that clearly showed he wasn't buying it. Not wanting to disturb the mending peace between them, he sat forward in his chair and gestured to _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_. "What do you think?" Sam asked.

Dean's gaze lingered on Sam for a fraction of a second before he turned back to the book.

"Pretty cut and dry," he said. "The legend matches pretty much perfectly with the murder. Although your creepy professor had a point when he said that the legend usually ends with a less sticky fate for the woman."

"Do you think it's demonic?" Sam asked in a hushed voice so that the people sitting nearby wouldn't hear.

Dean shrugged. "It's hard to say. I mean I wouldn't rule it out at this point, but it's not like it's impossible for a human to do this. Just because urban legends never happened...

"Doesn't mean they never could." Sam finished, sitting back in his chair wearily. "Yeah. My friends and I already made that observation."

Dean arched an eyebrow, an impish grin curling his lips. "You have friends? Like...real friends or the ones in your head?"

"Shut up." Sam said with a tiny grin.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam and Dean both grinned broadly at this exchange. _God I missed this, _Sam thought. Aloud he said, "The odds are pretty slim, you know. The killer would have to have had the upper hand on Michelle in every single aspect. When she would be traveling, where she would be going. And he'd have to know that she wouldn't check the back seat."

"And that she'd stop at a gas station." Dean added.

Sam shook his head. "That could just been an eerie coincidence. The killer could've just lucked out there."

"Which is a narrow chance when you think about it." Dean said. "Which is why it's not impossible for this to have been paranormal in anyway."

"Witchcraft, demons...one of the two." Sam supplied. "Or maybe both. It wouldn't be too hard to invoke something. But that means the killer has a pretty damn good knowledge of the arcane, which would mean he's got some friends in low places."

Dean grinned. "What makes you think the killer's a guy?"

Sam shrugged. "Because that's usually the case in urban legends. It's always a male killer preying on a helpless female victim." Sam looked around the library and saw that most of the other students had their heads together and were talking in low hushed voices. He didn't have to guess what they were whispering about. Even though Michelle hadn't actually been attending Stanford, the manner of her murder was something that most people wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon. He frowned and thought of telling Dean about his vision, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed right now was Dean fussing over him. He needed to tough this out and see if he could stand just being brothers with Dean again. Any kind of emotional contact would just open the floodgates.

"Why don't you phone Dad about it?" Sam suggested casually, trying hard to disguise the venom in his voice. To his surprise, Dean's face hardened and he looked away. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, sitting forward and studying his brother carefully.

Dean ran his hand through his hair and then said bitterly, "I don't know how to get a hold of him."

"What?" Sam asked in surprise.

"He...he's not around Sam. He went off for a hunt months ago with a message telling me not to look for him and...and I haven't heard so much as a whisper from him since." Dean met Sam's gaze levelly, his eyes daring Sam to goad him for being wrong about his precious father's own departure. And, if Sam was being honest, he wanted to gloat at the news. He wanted to shove it in Dean's face that they needn't have worried about leaving John if he was going to up and leave only a few months later. But something in Dean's eyes stopped him. As much as Sam hated the man, he knew John was an important aspect of his older brother's life. Whatever resentment and bitterness Sam felt, he swallowed down.

Putting a tentative hand over Dean's wrist, Sam gave his brother a supportive half-smile. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said quietly.

Dean grinned furtively and placed his big, calloused hand over Sam's. "Thanks Sammy." he said just as softly. Their eyes met again. Sam felt himself getting lost in those mossy green pools and he blinked and forced himself to look away, screaming on the inside that he was strong enough for this and that even if he wasn't he wanted it too badly to give a damn anymore. But he had to look away. He didn't want to put himself or Dean through anymore, especially in light of this revelation about their father's disappearance. Grudgingly, he slid his hand out from under Dean's.

"Have you tried looking for him?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But the trail's cold. I don't think he wants to be found. So...I gave up and made my way South. We were in Oregon when he left and...well, when he didn't show, I decided to come down here to see you and that's when this happened." He gestured at the book again.

Sam bit his lip, not wanting to voice the obvious. How the hell did Dean know John was just taking a vacation? What if something had happened to him?

_He wanted to see me,_ that voice in his head thought, _just me. Not him. He was heading to see me instead of looking. That means he doesn't care anymore about Dad._

"Fuck." Sam hissed angrily, rubbing his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked. When Sam shook his head, Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Bullshit, Sam. Something's bothering you, so just tell me."

"I already did." Sam said wearily.

Dean looked at him from across the table and then looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. When he was sure they wouldn't be overheard, he leaned closer to Sam and sighed. "Sammy," he began, "you know that I'll always love you. But what we had...it was -

Sam got to his feet, a little more emphatically then he meant too. His chair tipped over and landed on the floor with a loud bang that made several people jump and look around in surprise.

"Don't," he said, snatching the book from under Dean's nose and shoving it back into his bag. "Just don't, okay? I'm grateful that your here, Dean. And I already told you how I feel. So don't sit there and patronize me with stupid clichés." Sam swung his book bag over his shoulder and scribbled a note on an index card lying on the table. He shoved it under Dean's nose. "That's my dorm number. Come and find me when you've made your mind up. And check out the New Age section. That's the only place you can find info on the paranormal here." With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the library, leaving Dean sitting there, staring down at the index card with a look of mingled confusion, anger and hurt on his handsome face.


	4. Chapter 4

A part of him, the most juvenile part, prayed that Dean would follow him and tell him to stop, or even come knocking at the dorm room door. But none of these things happened. Sam did not have to meet Damon until eight that evening. He thought briefly of going to meet Natalie or maybe Brenda, but the two were probably off together doing their own thing. Sasha had Parker and the radio show to deal with at night and Paul didn't come in at all. Sam guessed he was probably covering the murder like stink on a warthog. Having nothing better to do and not wanting to sit with his thoughts, he decided to study like crazy for his other subjects. He knew it was stupid to be mad at Dean for a simple statement of what was probably brotherly love. But in Sam's mind, they could never go back to being just brothers. They'd had something real and Dean had thrown it away. And if he gave the feelings he still harbored even the slightest inch then there would be no turning back from the detente in their relationship. Besides, there was still Damon to contend with.

After hours of reading and note taking in his dorm room, Sam glanced over at the clock and saw that it was seven thirty. Sighing, he closed his books and took a quick shower, wondering what this meeting with Damon would bring.

The fraternity house was on the outer edge of the campus, just passed Stanley Hall. The sun had not yet gone down when Sam started out, reveling in the muffled noises of the late evening on the campus quad. The day's events had put him on edge and the last thing he needed was a confrontation with Dean again. From a distance, he spied the Impala on the front parking lot, but thankfully there was no sign of its owner.

The fraternity house was, like all frat houses, enormous, almost a manor house. It stood atop a small grassy knoll with a dusty drive way where all the expensive looking sports cars were parked. Behind the big yard with the pool there was a huge expanse of trees that lead to the surrounding forest where the frat boys usually held their bonfires and hazings.

Sam hated the fraternity. Mostly because of Parker being a righteous ass and one of the most influential brothers, but also because of what it had done to Damon. Sam still felt a small twinge of pain in his chest when he remembered that hellish week when Damon had done a complete one eighty for the worst. But if he really wanted to patch things up...maybe it would help Sam forget about Dean the way it had done when Sam had first come to Stanford.

As he approached the house as twilight settled in, he heard a chopping noise from around the side. Cocking his head, Sam cautiously approached the side of the house, trying to keep out of sight in case it was Parker. But it wasn't. It was Damon, swinging down on blocks of wood for the fireplace with a double bladed axe. His shirt was off, and the exterior lights of the house were casting Damon in an amber glow that only served to highlight his knotted muscles. Although not ripped like some of the other fraternity brothers, Damon's muscles were defined through hard natural labor rather than weight lifting, the same way Dean's were. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat and his gelled blonde hair shone brightly under the lights. For several moments, Sam simply stood there and watched him chop through the wood, the blade of the axe tearing through the logs without any trouble at all.

_Like a blade through bone_, Sam thought. He blinked, confused. What the hell had made him think that? Shaking his head, he strode forward and coughed quietly. Damon looked up mid-swing and grinned, dropping the axe and walking with a swagger over to Sam. Before Sam could so much as take a breath, Damon pulled him to his chest and crushed their lips together. Sam's eyes widened in surprise and he thought of pushing Damon away but before he could act on this notion, Damon's tongue touched his and Sam felt all the resistance drain out of him.

_God damn it_, he thought, _I need to stop letting my guard down so much_. He sank further into Damon's embrace, feeling the shorter boy's sweat against his own shirt. Sam moaned, still kissing Damon passionately. He didn't care anymore. Anything to help him try and forget about Dean. After several long moments of their tongues dancing together, Damon broke the kiss and grinned at Sam who was breathing heavily.

"Hey." Damon said.

Still breathless, Sam merely nodded. Damon let out a whoop of laughter and then ran a hand over his damp hair.

"Sorry," he said, "I got carried away."

"Tell me about it." Sam murmured. Damon chuckled again.

"I'm going to hit the shower quickly and then we'll go." Damon said, turning and heading towards the back door of the house.

"Go?" Sam said bemused, "go where?"

Damon merely grinned in response and then headed inside. Shaking his head, Sam sat down on the stump used to chop the logs and looked around at the wood. His eye caught the double bladed axe which Damon had left outside. For some reason, it held his gaze and he felt that there was something significant about it, like he'd seen it before. Frowning, Sam leaned forward and looked closely at the blades, trying to figure out what it was about the axe that was so important.

Then he remembered the vision he'd had last night. The crouching figure in the back of Michelle's car, the parka pulled so high that their face couldn't be seen and the flash of steel as the killer severed Michelle's head with the blade of lethal double bladed axe.

Sam gasped audibly and got to his feet, staring at the thing in cold dread. No...this wasn't possible.

It really wasn't, Sam realized with a near laugh. Paul had told him that morning that he'd seen Damon near Stanley Hall last night. There was no way he could be the killer. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sam turned and found himself face to face with Damon. He gasped in surprise and staggered backwards, only avoiding falling over the log thanks to a strong arm from Damon, who was looking at him like he'd just grown another head.

"Jumpy much?" Damon said, helping Sam get his footing again. He'd changed into a white t-shirt with an orange vest and hadn't bothered gelling his hair after showering.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I guess I just...you startled me and...uh..the axe and...what's so funny?" Damon was chuckling, his eyes regarding Sam warmly.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just cute the way you trip over yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes but allowed a smile to pass his lips. Damon seemed to really be acting like his old self again.

"C'mon," Damon said, turning and heading for the front of the house, "we're taking the car."

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Sam reminded him as they rounded the house and headed for the driveway where Damon's jeep was parked.

"We're going to go cruise for hot babes." Damon said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Do you even like girls Damon?" Sam asked him.

"Do you?" Damon shot back, giving Sam a sideways glance. Sam said nothing, but looked down at his feet as they reached the jeep. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Damon gazing at him apologetically. "Hey...I didn't mean it like that Sammy."

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I kinda deserved it."

Damon grinned and then motioned for Sam to get into the passenger seat. Sam did so, going around the jeep and buckling up his seat belt in silence. He knew very well that neither he nor Damon were interested in women in a romantic way. Not for the first time Sam wondered why he and Natalie were even considering themselves a couple.

"You better not be taking me to Make Out Point." Sam said with a teasing grin as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Make Out Point, Lover's Lane, Contraception Overlook...it's all the same." Damon answered.

"So you are taking me there." Sam said with a dramatic sigh. He was surprised that he didn't mind. "But mother said that nice girls who go to Make Out Point always meet a nasty end."

Damon chuckled. "It's not really Make Out Point when it comes to us, Sam. It's more like Anal Sex Cliff."

"Damon!" Sam yelped in disbelief. But he smiled. This was the old Damon back, the one who could crack a joke and still care about you. Not the egotistical frat boy who had to have everything his way, although Sam's mind was racing with questions about why exactly Damon's personality had changed overnight.

They rode in silence for the rest of the ride. Taking the right turn out of the campus led to the highway that bordered the woods. Sam knew where Damon was taking him; the clearing in the woods behind the frat house. If someone were to try and make it there from the campus it would take them the better part of an hour to find it. It was far enough in that it couldn't be seen from the fraternity house. This was why the brothers used it as the hazing site. The trek there would be a tough one for a blindfolded pledge. That and it would be a bitch for campus security to find and put a stop to any kind of illegal activities associated with twenty first century hazing.

There was a small path from the highway that led into the woods. Sam didn't know how it had gotten there, but guessed that not all of the school faculty was in the dark about the clearing. The path was too perfect to have been made by a bunch of frat boys. In any event, it took Damon only twenty minutes to get from the frat pad to the clearing. By that time the sun had completely set and he had to use his headlights to navigate through the trees. In the dimness, the trees with their budding leaves looked skeletal. It made Sam shiver.

The clearing itself was about the size of a swimming pool and set under a huge old oak tree with a large, sturdy branch that jutted out over the dust below. There were small potholes here and there from where fires had been lit and Sam wasn't surprised to see the odd beer can or condom littering the ground. Damon parked right under the branch and cut the engine. He undid his seat belt and Sam did too, thinking they were going to get out of the jeep, but when Damon's door did not open, Sam stopped and turned to look at the other boy, suddenly wary of being out so far from other people.

Damon took a deep breath and then ran his hand over his face.

"This probably doesn't mean shit to you right now," he began, "but I'm sorry."

_How many times am I going to hear that today_? Sam thought.

"I know I've been a real dick since I joined the fraternity," Damon went on, "but I meant what I said earlier today. I miss you Sam. I miss what we had."

Sam looked at Damon long and hard. He'd been expecting something like this and as much as he wanted to believe Damon, he had to make sure that this was real and not just an attempt to get into his pants.

"You better mean that," Sam said.

"I do, Sam." Damon assured him.

"Really?" Sam said sarcastically. "You mean that getting drunk every weekend and having toga parties with Parker isn't important to you anymore? Or is this just an excuse to get your hand down my jeans?"

Damon looked at him, clearly stung by this. "I mean it Sam. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I just really miss you."

"Me or the sex?" Sam asked.

Damon took a deep steadying breath. "Both." he said, his eyes meeting Sam's.

"And what brought this on?" Sam asked him, tearing his eyes away from Damon's when he felt his guard coming down again. He really needed to stop looking into people's eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time we spoke longer than five minutes you said that loyalty to the brothers was the most important thing to you."

Damon had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He stared out the windshield into the dark woods, resting his chin on his hand. For a long moment, he simply stared into the forest, his eyes distant.

"I don't think the answer's in the trees, Damon," Sam said.

Damon sighed deeply. "I guess I should've expected this," he said softly. "What I did to you...it was cruel."

"You're telling me."

"I was a dumbass Sam," Damon continued as though he hadn't heard. "You know the shit that the frat pulls on pledges. They fucking brainwashed me into thinking that they were hot shit. But I've gotten real tired of them lately. Especially Parker. I'd say I don't know what the fuck gets into someone's head when they join a fraternity, but that would be a lie. I've been there. And for a long time I thought that the way they lived was what I wanted. But it's not. Beer bongs and toga parties and all that bullshit. It's not for me." A pained look passed over his boyish face and his voice shook slightly as he went on, "They tried setting me up with some sorority sister at one of those stupid parties."

"What?" Sam said, completely stunned.

Damon nodded. "Yeah. They were egging her on to suck me off in front of everyone and I...well, let's just say my package was useless when called upon. And most of the guys were real cool about it. Except Parker. He keeps making these little jibes about me being...about how I like...well...you get it."

Sam clenched his jaw angrily. Of course he got it. Given the type of person Parker was, it wasn't surprising to hear that he'd added royal homophobe to his list of blistering personality traits. That must be why he loved heckling Sam so much. He probably saw right through the facade that was Sam and Natalie's relationship.

"How long ago did that happen?" Sam asked quietly.

"January," Damon replied, still looking out the front of the car.

Anger filled the pit of Sam's stomach. He and Damon had broken it off in early November, just after Damon had been made a full brother. It was April now. Damon had been living with this for months and Sam hadn't known.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked softly.

Damon shrugged. "You know me, Sam."

Yeah, Sam did know him. Damon was the Tom Fool of Stanford. He didn't like sharing his emotions unless he absolutely had too. Emotions were serious and Damon preferred to dance through life with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Something like this...he probably tried to shake it off as often as he could. Then again, maybe Parker's snide remarks had caused something else to happen in Damon. In the face of adversity people had a tendency to deny the things about themselves they hated. Did that mean Damon hated the fact that he liked Sam?

"It doesn't matter, you know," Sam said quietly. Damon finally turned to look at Sam, his eyes bright even in the darkness. "You...you like me...and that's great, Damon. It really is. And so what if Parker's being a prick about it? Who gives a fuck? There's no need to label what you feel if it destroys something that you can't live without...I should know." Sam thought of Dean and what they'd been through. He shook his head. This wasn't about Dean. This was about Damon, who was now smiling softly at Sam.

"Then...can we...try again?" Damon asked quietly, not meeting Sam's gaze.

Sam smiled softly at the blonde.

"Yeah," he said, "I'd like that. Just...don't make me regret okay? If you do I'll chop your balls off and hang them from the flagpole."

Damon laughed. "Kinky." he said smiling. Sam chuckled. This was really happening. He could forget about Dean now, although a small part was still holding onto him.

_What is wrong with me_? Sam thought, _I've got to be the most indecisive person in the country_.

Damon grinned at him and closed the distance between them in the confined space of the front of the jeep. He captured Sam's lips in a soft kiss that caused Sam's eyes to flutter. Damon gently pushed him back in his seat so that he was leaning against the door with the shorter boy over him. They kissed long and deep, their lips seeming to be pulled together magnetically.

"I wanted you back for so long," Damon whispered when their lips finally parted. "Not just for this...but...as a friend. I'd have settled for that too."

Sam smiled up at him. "There's no way we could've been friends Damon. You're too handsome."

"Damn straight," Damon said with a grin. He reached behind him and fiddled with the radio.

" ...once again, police have Michael McDonnell in custody after a long investigation into the tragic murder of Michelle Mancini which took place..." Damon hastily switched stations, rolling his eyes at the report.

"...so let me get this straight", it was Sasha's voice now. Damon had switched to the campus radio station. "You had yourself a little frat boy shake and now you think you need your stomach pumped?" Another voice replaced Sasha's, a girl's voice. She sounded ill. "Yes, Sasha. It's so gross. I think I feel them swimming around in my stomach..."

"Oh ew," Sam said, making a face. "How the hell can she stand getting calls from idiots like that?"

Damon shrugged, shutting the radio off and then kissing Sam's forehead softly.

"She's interesting that way," he said. Then he grinned impishly and leaned closer to Sam, putting his lips against his ear and whispering, "Do you want a frat boy shake right now Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Now, now. I told you. I'm a respectable boy. I'm not just going to give it all away."

Damon began kissing Sam's neck, unzipping his jacket as he did so and rubbing his hands over Sam's chest. "Don't be a tease," Damon said with a fake whine.

Laughing, Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, reveling in Damon's kisses. This was so surreal. This whole day had been surreal. From the vision to Dean arriving to right now. It was like some kind of weird dream that he was only half looking forward to waking from. As Damon lifted the hem of Sam's shirt up and placed kisses on his bare chest, Sam felt himself losing all common sense. Dean being at Stanford now meant nothing. Michelle Mancini's eerie murder wasn't important anymore. They'd caught the killer. It would be fine. Damon's hand slid into the front of Sam's jeans and he arched into the other boy's touch. Everything would be fine...

He could forget about urban legends and Dean...Dean...urban legends...

_Dean_! Sam's mind screamed.

Sam's eyes snapped open, all languidness gone. His mind seemed to be running to catch up with his senses. He was making out with Damon in a secluded spot where people normally went to neck.

_Lover's Lane..._

"Damon..." Sam said, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Damon touching him like this.

"Please, Sammy..." Damon whispered, his hand cupping Sam through his boxers. Sam groaned, his body wanting this, craving it with a burning need. But his mind was singing a different tune. Even if the cops said they'd hauled in Michelle's killer, the circumstances of where they were right now were just too close to urban legend territory.

_Think_! Sam thought as Damon unbuckled Sam's belt while still kissing him everywhere he could get his lips. _Lover's Lane...oh God that feels so...no...Lover's Lane...radio report...killer...there's something that happens now...fuck I can't help it...he's got me hooked completely...hooked...hook! _Sam strained his ears to hear any sort of scratching noise against the side of the car door, but he couldn't hear anything except the sounds of his and Damon's heavy breathing. The windows of the jeep were fogging up fast and he doubted he'd be able to see anything that could potentially be watching them.

Damon's fingers were inching their way towards the waistband of Sam's boxers and he knew that once that line was crossed he'd forget about anything else. Sam's mind seemed to be in a million different places. Here in the car, out there where something could be waiting to make him and Damon urban legends and, he hated to admit it, back at the campus where he was sure Dean was most likely sleeping in the Impala.

Damon stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked down, averting his eyes from Sam's gaze.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

Damon took a steadying breath.

"This is so not fair." he said angrily.

"What?"

"I...I have to piss," he said sheepishly. Sam could've laughed.

"That's fine. Just go find a tree and I'll wait."

"But it'll kill the mood," Damon said looking frustrated.

"Damon, its fine. Just step out quickly and then come back."

"Are you sure it's okay?" Damon asked, looking at Sam searchingly. Why the hell was he taking this so hard?

"Damon, go. It's better than you going in here." Damon chuckled and then placed one last kiss on Sam's nose before he scrambled out of the jeep and into the night. Sam sat up straighter and watched him walk off, feeling stupid for worrying again. They'd caught the killer. It had said so on the radio. He and Damon were fine. Better than fine as soon as Damon finished up and got his sweet ass back in the car.

Sitting up straight, Sam turned on the radio and made a face when he heard the theme from Dawson's Creek playing. God he hated that show and anyone stupid enough to be on it. He sat there in silence, waiting for Damon. He waited...and waited...what the hell was taking Damon so long? Even if he'd had a gallon of water before going out there was no way it would take him this long to relieve himself.

Sam peered into the darkness, annoyed. Nearly fifteen minutes had gone by since Damon had left the car.

"Damon," he said loudly, "if you're not back here in another minute I swear to God I'm leaving you out here and taking your jeep."

Still nothing.

"You better not be pulling something," Sam said, his mind reeling at the thought that this had all just been a practical joke at his expense. What if the fraternity was hiding in the bushes with a camera or something? Frowning at this thought, Sam opened the door of the jeep and stepped out into the night air. It was colder out here then he expected. The sharp, spring air hit his skin, making him shiver and he realized that he hadn't bothered to zip up his jacket or buckle his belt. After correcting this glaring mistake, Sam peered around into the trees and felt a new kind of cold wash over him.

Dread.

"Damon!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the woods, adding to the sense of isolation.

_I'm getting out of here_, Sam thought,_ I need to get help_.

He half-jogged around the jeep, intending to dive into the driver's seat. When he rounded the corner of the car he stopped dead.

Someone was watching him, not even ten feet in front of the car. He could just make out the bulky form in the dimness. Sam's heart skipped a beat. He stood there, not daring to look away from the figure, which did not move but continued to watch him. Feeling the hair's on the back of his neck rising, Sam inched slowly towards the driver's side door, still staring at the dark shape. He pulled the door open and slid into the seat. Damon hadn't taken the keys with him, thank God. Sam turned the keys in the ignition. The car revved...but did not start.

"No," Sam moaned, trying to start the car again. The engine did not turn over. He looked up out the windshield and saw to his horror that his observer was moving forward slowly, directly in the path of the jeep. "Fuck!" Sam cried angrily, giving the key a vicious turn. To his immense relief, the motor sprang to life and at the same time the headlights came on. He looked up and felt himself go cold. The figure was less than two feet away from the front of the car, wearing a dark green parka with the hood pulled up so far that their face was completely obscured. In a gloved hand, the killer held a lethal double bladed axe.

Sam was about to step on the gas pedal when he heard a noise on the roof of the car. It sounded like a thump. This was not happening. He looked back out the windshield and saw that the killer was no longer in front of the car. Instinctively, Sam looked to his left and then out the passenger window. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Thump.

Sam jumped, his eyes snapping up to the roof of the car where the noise had again come from. He was breathing heavily now, his eyes wide with fear. There was something on the roof. Was the killer up there? There was another thump...and then another...and another...they were coming in quicker succession. Cold dread took over Sam, who stepped on the gas, trying his hardest to ignore both the thumping and the shaking of his own hands on the steering wheel.

"Come on you piece of shit!" he roared at the vehicle, which lurched forward with an agonizing groan. Sam felt something give way on the back of the car but paid no heed to it. All that he cared about was that the car was actually moving. He was going to make it!

The car lurched to a stop with a squeal of rubber against dirt. Sam was shaken in his seat. What the fuck had happened? Was there something stuck to the end of the car? He was about to turn to check the back window when he saw the killer step out from behind the tree in front of him, axe in hand. With a terrified yell, Sam put the car in reverse, the back bumper slamming into the front of the big oak tree.

Something fell out of the sky and landed on the windshield with a heart stopping crash. Sam actually screamed and let go of the steering wheel as broken glass and something red littered the front of the car.

_No..._ he thought, feeling tears gathering behind his eyes. He recognized the body. It was Damon. And there was a thick noose around his neck leading up to the branch above the car. Sam let out a choked sob and tumbled out of the front seat, stumbling blindly to the body. He could dimly see the length of rope leading up to the branch and then down behind it to where it had been tied to the back of the car.

Sobbing, Sam made to pull Damon's body to him when the he was pulled violently backward and thrown into the dirt. He turned and through his blurred vision saw the bulky frame of the killer bearing down on him. His hunting instincts suddenly kicking in, Sam kicked the figure in the knee. The killer went down, grabbing his knee in pain. Sam scrambled to his feet, casting one last glance back at the pitiful form of Damon on the hood of his jeep and took off running and yelling out for help.

He ran for what felt like hours through the darkness, not daring to look back and trying hard not to think about what had happened back in the clearing. Damon couldn't be dead, not after all they'd worked through. When he did stop to catch his breath he only felt blind panic and sorrow overtake him. He couldn't stop. He just ran through the night, crying like a baby and screaming for help until his throat ached.

The trees were thinning. He was near the campus now. Somebody had to hear him, somebody had to come and help him.

Sam stumbled passed a tree with a thick trunk and looked over his shoulder, tears still falling down his face. No, he couldn't face it. This was a nightmare. He was just having another vision. He must have passed out in the jeep. He was still there now and when he woke up he would have time to save Damon. It was different from Michelle's death because it had to be because it was someone so damn important to him.

Hysteria was setting in. He needed to find help. He turned back and collided with someone wearing a thick coat.

It was the killer! He was going to die, just like Michelle and poor Damon! Sam pounded his fists into the person's chest, clawing at them and yelling like a cornered animal.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, "I'll fucking kill you!"

The person took him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

"Get a hold of yourself Sasquatch!" the voice said.

Sam took a deep, agonized breath. That name...only one person would use that. Through his hysteria Sam saw that it wasn't the killer...it was Dean, looking at Sam with shock and concern. Sam stared at him, his breath coming in short shallow gasps. He closed his eyes and tried getting a hold on himself. But all he saw was Damon on the hood of the jeep. His eyes opened, staring imploringly at Dean, wanting him to make it better. But he couldn't. Damon was dead.

Sam let out a wail of misery and fell forward, Dean catching him in his strong arms and holding him as he shook with renewed sobs, crying into his older brother's shoulder like a child. And Dean, for all his shock and confusion, held Sam to him like a baby and whispered to him softly. And somewhere in the tangled storm of emotions that were playing through Sam's mind, he felt safe. His sobs eased. It would be okay.

Dean was there. It was always okay when Dean was there.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean could barely believe that it had been less than a day since he'd left Redding for Stanford. Then again, it was hard to believe that it had been almost nine months since he'd last seen Sam. Nine long months of regret and guilt that had forced him to do a lot of thinking. His relationship with his father, while not volatile, hadn't been enough to fill the void left by Sam's departure all those months ago.

John hadn't reacted quite the same way Dean had. He'd barely re-acted at all. He seemed more concerned over the money Sam had stolen from them to pay for his bus ticket. At first, Dean had hoped the loss of Sam would allow him to understand his father better. But no. When John had left, Dean hadn't lost it the way he had when he'd found the note from Sam upon returning to the motel in August. He'd taken a few hours to get his mind straight and then he'd made a plan.

Dean was good at planning, or so he liked to think. He'd tried quite hard to compartmentalize his life but he wasn't the kind of person to do that. He'd seen what being like that had done to his father. Although not a cruel man, Dean had come to understand that John, for all his fatherly love for his son's, didn't really know them. As they'd gotten older they'd become more of a marine faction and less of a family. Perhaps that was why things had gone the way they'd gone with Sam.

For three and a half years he and his little brother had shared something that had made them feel normal, safe...loved. The societal implications of their relationship didn't faze them for those three years. It never mattered because they were on the outskirts of society and the people they did know personally knew nothing of it and they never stuck around long enough for the people they helped to realize anything was going on.

It was their magical little world, one that Dean had destroyed by being too much of a pussy to get out from under his father's thumb.

Therefore it was no surprise when Sam stormed out of the library that afternoon. It had hurt like a bitch, but he hadn't been the slightest surprised, especially seeing as how it had primarily been his fault. A lot of things were his fault.

Dean had gotten his bearings pretty fast after Sam had left. Not wanting to sit with his thoughts, he'd headed straight towards the New Age section that Sam had pointed out, trying hard to ignore the stares of the students, who were either giving him weird looks for his little scene with Sam or else regarding his drifter-like appearance with curiosity.

He was going through the New Age section when a pretty, curvy blonde girl tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry," He said, thinking he was in her way.

"For what?" She asked in a sexy, throaty voice. She had very bright blue eyes and a winning, clever smile. Dean mentally prayed to anything from God to Buddha that she was single. As far as guys went, Sam was the only one he loved and probably would ever love. He still appreciated a good woman when he saw one. She was wearing a red top that looked like leather and plunged just low enough to pique Dean's male interest. The little black skirt she wore only served to add to the image of sexy librarian. This day was definitely getting better.

"Are you Sam's friend?" She questioned.

Dean blinked. "What?"

She rolled her eyes at this. "It's not like that little scene there was private, buddy. How do you know Sam?"

_Damn, is she his girlfriend or something?_ He thought, _because if she is, Sam made out like bandit_. But her tone of voice wasn't fitting of a girlfriend. It sounded protective, like a mother or older sibling. The kind of voice he'd often used when interrogating people about Sam.

"I'm his brother," Dean said quietly.

The girl raised her eyebrows.

"No shit?" She said in surprise. "Sam told me that you were in Vegas. What's it like working as a Chippendale's Dancer?"

What the fuck has he been telling these people? Dean thought. Out loud he said, "I'm not a Chippendale's Dancer."

"Damn," the blonde said, "there goes the interview."

"What interview?" Dean asked, getting more confused by the second.

She grinned and held out a hand which Dean shook. Damn she had soft skin. "Sasha Thomas," she said, "resident radio sex therapist."

Dean regarded Sasha with interest. "Sounds like a fun job. How do you know Sammy...I mean...my brother." Shit. He really needed to control his use of that endearment. His unease increased when Sasha cocked her head to the side and gazed at him like a fascinating new form of marine life. Hunting had taught Dean never to let his guard down with strangers and as Sasha's job dealt with relationships she was probably incredibly intuitive. However after a moment she seemed to let it slide and glanced at the book Dean had been reading about witchcraft.

Sasha arched an eyebrow.

"What exactly do you need with fertility spells?" She asked.

Dean shrugged, trying to play it cool. "You know...you can never be too prepared for a little stranger."

"Yes. I'm sure as a healthy adult male a ritual for a fertile placenta is very important." Sasha grinned and Dean felt himself blush. Where the hell did she come from anyway? He was pretty sure he'd been alone in this part of the library. Deciding to change the subject, Dean said, "You never answered my question. How do you know my brother?"

"You mean Sammy?" Sasha asked with a grin. She was clearly teasing him but Dean chose to ignore it. "We're friends," Sasha added.

"I figured as much." Dean said. "He never mentioned you in any of his...uh...letters."

Sasha arched an eyebrow. "Funny," she said, "Sam told me you guys fell out when you went to Vegas. Huh. But you aren't a Chippendale's dancer. So he lied about that. I guess fibbing is a common thing between you two, huh?"

Dean grimaced. Who the hell was she to get all personal about him and Sam? He'd only just met her. Sasha obviously felt she'd crossed a line because she sighed and shook her hair out of her face.

"Sorry," she said, "but Sam's had it a little rough here and I try to look out for him, y'know? He's like a little brother to me."

"Well, he's _my_ little brother," Dean reminded her.

"And he doesn't like to talk about you, so I'm guessing you guys don't have the best relationship in the world." Sasha stared at him hard, her eyes boring into his. Dean looked right back at her, still a little perturbed but also intrigued. Sasha seemed to really have Sam's best interests at heart. It was a feeling he could relate to completely, although Dean was guessing Sasha hadn't ever been as close as he and Sam had been.

"What do you mean Sam's had it rough here?" Dean asked.

Sasha grinned a little. "Nice to see we're on the same page. I guess rough is a little too harsh...it's not like he's been put through frat hazings or something." Sasha's nostrils flared at this and she looked angry again. Obviously she wasn't on the best of terms with the fraternity. "It's just...well, his one and only real campus relationship went a little...sour."

"Relationship?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the sudden spark of jealousy that flared in the pit of his stomach.

Sasha nodded. "He...uh...doesn't know that I know. I guess you'd know more than anyone, but Sam's got a tendency to try and keep his problems to himself no matter how much it would help to tell someone else."

Dean raised his eyebrows. That didn't sound like the Sam he knew. Sam had always come to him when there was something wrong. It was he, Dean, who had the problem telling people when there was something bothering him. If he'd been more like Sam they could've at least avoided what had happened in August. Then again, maybe that's what had caused Sam to change.

"If he didn't tell you, how do you know?" Dean asked, leaning against the bookshelf.

"I'm a sex therapist, buddy. I see a lot more than people think. Body language and stuff like that is pretty much like talking on a megaphone to me. For instance, right now you're trying to act as casual as possible to cover up any feelings of anger you might be feeling, possibly brought on by my telling you about Sam's relationship. And I'm guessing by the position of your eyebrows that you're either thinking about something in the past or you're really creeped out or interested that a sex therapist can know all this stuff." Dean's eyes widened and Sasha grinned triumphantly. "Like I said," she added, "it's like a megaphone."

"So Sam was in a relationship," Dean said with a small smile, rattled, but impressed by Sasha's accurate assessment. He should give sex therapist's a lot more credit.

Sasha nodded. "Yeah. It started around the middle of September." She paused and gave Dean a look of near apprehension, as though worried that what she said next would result in a violent outburst. "It...uh...well, he was...I mean...it's the twenty first century and..." Sasha trailed off, clearly wondering whether or not she should spit it out. Dean took a swift glance at her and tried to read her body language the way she'd read his. Her arms were drawn in, almost protectively under her chest. Her whole frame was tense and she was leaning away from him ever so slightly. But her eyes were searching, trying to tell him something without words.

Sasha knew nothing about him, and therefore was probably worried that he would react badly to the identity of Sam's ex. But why? Dean wasn't racist, or homophobic. Hell he was far from homophobic, especially when it came to Sam. But Sasha didn't know that.

"Sasha," Dean said quietly, "It was a guy, wasn't it?"

Sasha nodded. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"At first, nothing. They were really great together. They never let us know - the others in our little group, I mean - but it was obvious to me by how they were around each other." Sasha smiled softly, as if she were remembering something warm and happy. "As far as I knew there was nothing wrong until around November. Damon - that's Sam's ex - wanted to join the fraternity and...Well, let's just say he became a righteous dick after pledge week. I don't know exactly how they broke it off, but they've avoided each other like the plague."

Dean sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of the nose. No wonder Sam was so upset. He'd been cast away by Dean and then found this Damon guy only to have it go south in a matter of months. It really wasn't fair. And now that Dean knew the truth, he wanted to find Sam and talk to him, tell him that he understood and that they could work it out. But would Sam even want to talk after what had happened today?

_Christ, I don't even know what I want anymore_, Dean thought bitterly. It shouldn't have mattered, now that Dad was gone. It would be so easy for them to pick everything up again. But every time Dean thought about Sam, he felt guilt slam into him like a two-by-four to the gut. He'd hurt Sam so damn badly that day and he didn't know if he could forgive himself for breaking that trust, that promise he'd always made Sam.

"I'll never hurt you, baby. I promise." God damn it hurt to think of it even now. That was why he wanted them to just be brothers. Brothers fought all the time. If he and Sam were just brothers, then what Dean had done wouldn't be that big a deal. If he let them go back to what they'd had before...it was too much for him to take. He was the protector and he'd let Sam down in the worst possible way.

"Hey," Sasha said, putting a tentative arm on his shoulder. Shit. He'd forgotten she was there. Dean straightened up, trying to regain his composure and wondering whether or not Sasha had read more in his body language than he'd wanted her too. A glance in her direction told Dean that his fears were justified. Sasha was regarding him curiously, trying to place some kind of assessment on him. He shook his head. It sucked when other people used the body language reading trick on him. Normally he was the one doing it to other people.

Recalling the class he'd sat in on that morning, Dean asked, "This Damon guy...he wouldn't happen to have gelled blonde hair would he?"

Sasha nodded. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"I saw him talking to Sam this morning in a class they had together."

Sasha chuckled. "Damn. You must have wanted to see him pretty bad. That was probably Wexler's folklore class."

"They were talking about urban legends," Dean said, suddenly remembering just why he'd come to this section of the library.

"Them and everybody else." Sasha rolled her eyes. "Ever since that report about Michelle Mancini came on the whole campus has been talking about urban legends."

"I was looking for a book on urban legends," Dean said.

Sasha smirked. "Heard about it, huh? Is that why you came here? To make sure Sam was okay?" Her tone wasn't mocking. It was genuinely curious. Dean liked her. She reminded Dean of himself.

"Yeah." Dean said. "Gotta look out for him, y'know? Especially after all this time apart."

Sasha beamed. "We've got a lot in common then...you know you never told me your name."

Dean grinned. "It's Dean," he told her. Sasha smiled.

"Dean. I like that." She took him by the wrist and led him to the other side of the bookshelves but both of them stopped short when they saw a petite redhead on the floor looking through the books on the lower shelf. She looked up in surprise and hastily stuffed one of the books back into the shelf.

"Natalie!" Sasha said in surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Brenda had a Woman's Lit class after lunch."

"Oh." Natalie looked nervous and did not meet Dean's gaze. "I was just...looking at some stuff."

"In the folklore section?" Sasha said. "Don't you get enough of that with Wexler's class?"

"Well," Natalie forced a smile, "you can never be too prepared, you know?"

"Yeah..." Sasha regarded her quizzically.

"Well...gotta go!" Natalie said. "I'm...uh...meeting Sam later..."

"What?" Dean asked, but Natalie had turned the corner. He looked back at Sasha who knelt down on the floor and started to search for the book Natalie had been going through. "What the hell did she mean she was meeting Sam later?"

"Oh. That's Sam's...uh...trophy girlfriend." Sasha said her eyes still on the book spines.

"Trophy girlfriend?" Dean repeated.

"Sam and Natalie maintain that they're going out but they, uh, don't really do anything together. They're not really a couple. I think Sam just uses Natalie as a way to stop thinking about Damon."

"And she's okay with it?"

Sasha shrugged. "It beats being alone, I guess. She doesn't really seem to mind. There!" She slid out a thick book in brown leather binding. Upon inspecting the cover, Sasha frowned.

"What the hell?" She muttered.

Dean looked over her shoulder and also frowned. It was a copy of_ An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_, the same book Sam had let him thumb through earlier.

"Why would she be looking for this?" Dean asked. "She's in the folklore class, right?"

Sasha nodded. "Yeah...that's the weird thing. And this copy is older than the one Wexler ordered for the class so she wouldn't need it." Sasha bit her lip and then got to her feet. She led Dean out from behind the bookshelves and across the library to the front desk. Most of the students who had been here before were gone now. Once at the front desk, Sasha pulled out her student card and signed the book out. When she and Dean were outside the library, she handed it to him.

"Here." She said. "It should help if you've got any questions."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think I've got questions?"

Sasha grinned cheekily. "Intuition. You've got a Fox Mulder look to you."

Dean shuddered and Sasha laughed.

"Okay then. I take it you don't like the X-Files?"

"Hate it." Dean said with a grin.

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, read that. It beats stealing your brother's copy." She pulled her bag tighter over her shoulder. "I've gotta go. Sam's dorm room is-

"He gave it to me." Dean said, pulling out the index card Sam had given him.

Sasha nodded. "Right. Well...see you around Dean." She turned on her high heeled boot and began walking away.

"Wait!" Dean called. Sasha turned and gave him a questioning look. Dean grinned impishly. "When can I see you again?"

Sasha laughed. "You can hear me from ten to midnight on Stanford Radio. All the radios here should be set to the station, but the call number is 97.7 AM."

Dean nodded. "I'll be waiting."

With another bright smile, Sasha turned and walked away. Dean watched her go, happy to have met her and more importantly relieved that Sam was as close to her as Sasha had said he was. At least his brother wasn't alone here completely. Thinking of Sam, Dean glanced down at the number on the index card and decided to head off to the dorm to see if he could talk to him again.

It was now late afternoon. Most of the classes were being let out for the day so there were more students on the quad than Dean had anticipated. He had difficulty getting through them and once or twice felt someone step on his foot, whether by accident or on purpose was a mystery to him. His conversation with Sasha had served to open up some windows in his relationship with Sam, although that one big door was still securely locked, or so he hoped.

Dean finally reached Sam's dorm and was shocked to see that it was already a quarter to six. He hadn't been that long in the library had he? Making sure he had the correct number, Dean raised a fist to knock on the door and then stopped.

He couldn't do this right now. Sam had been pretty damn upset that afternoon and dragging up more crap about the urban legend murder would probably just serve to drive a wedge further between them. Shaking his head, Dean turned and headed out of the dorm building, suddenly feeling tired. He'd woken up at six that morning, two hours ahead of the time he was used too waking up. The drive from Redding to Stanford hadn't exactly been the most enjoyable and all that had happened that day had only made him more exhausted.

He needed to get some shut eye.

Reaching the campus parking lot, he saw that the last of the police cars had finally pulled away. He'd been mildly nervous at seeing the cops here when he'd first arrived. He had yet to be convicted for a felony, but the whole investigation would probably be easier without them poking their noses in. Shaking his head, Dean got into his beautiful black car and pulled out of the parking lot. Campus security hadn't exactly been happy to see him that day and he was sure he wouldn't get into their good books by sleeping in his car in the parking lot.

There was a small town about a half an hour away from the school where some of the student body lived in residence. When Dean arrived there, he managed to find a room in the only motel. After a shower and a quick bite to eat, he crawled into the double bed and was asleep almost instantly…

Sam was looking at him imploringly, his unkempt brown hair falling into his face as it often did. He didn't want this to be true and damn it if Dean wasn't screaming on the inside for this to stop. But he had to go through with it. It was better for them both if they stopped this now.

_"Please," Sam begged, "please don't do this. You promised we could leave when I got older."_

_Dean shook his head. "Sam, this isn't right. We need to end this before someone finds out."_

_"Who's going to find out?" Sam asked._

_"Uh, gee, I dunno, maybe...Dad?" Dean said, not meeting Sam's gaze because he knew the moment he did he would lose his resolve completely and probably smother his brother with kisses to make it all better._

_"That's why we have to leave!" Sam insisted. "So that he doesn't find out! We...we can be together like we planned..."_

_"No. We can't. It was never going to work, Sam."_

_"So why the fuck did you let it go on for as long as it has!" Sam asked, his voice cracking with the effort of not crying._

_"It was making you happy." Dean said, hating himself for doing this._

_"Then if you want to make me happy, let's leave tonight!" Sam begged, stepping towards Dean, who did not move but stood staring down at the ugly linoleum of the kitchen. He shook his head again._

_"We can't leave, Sam." Dean insisted quietly. "Dad needs us."_

_Sam snorted. "No, he doesn't. He's a fucking grown man, Dean. He can do this himself. Besides what the fuck does he need me for? I'm not good enough remember?"_

_Dean flinched at the pain in Sam's voice, wanting to comfort him but not daring to let himself. This was for the best...it had to be._

_"You fucking bastard." Sam said, and Dean finally looked up to see that tears were falling down Sam's face. "You don't wanna leave, do you? You never wanted too."_

_"Sam..."_

_"No! You don't wanna leave because you're afraid of being without Daddy, aren't you?"_

_For a moment silence hung between them, deadly and heavy in the small kitchen._

_Dean's fist connected with Sam's face before he could stop himself. Sam cried out in pain and shock, covering his nose with his hand and turning to look back up at his older brother, his eyes wide with fear. He lowered his hand slowly, his nose bloody. Regret and guilt seized Dean instantly and he took a step forward, wincing when Sam backed away._

_"You...you promised." Sam said softly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why Dean? Are you really that scared of living without him?"_

_Whatever regret had washed over Dean was replaced with a newfound fury born of denial at Sam's words. He grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt and threw him with all his strength out of the room. He flew across the small space between the kitchen and living room and stumbled over the coffee table. Before Dean could pull him back, Sam fell backwards onto the wood, breaking it in half with the force of his fall. Sam let out a scream of pain that echoed through the motel..._

Dean gasped and sat up in his bed, Sam's scream still ringing in his ears. For several seconds, he looked around the dark room, breathing heavily and trying hard to shake the guilt off. But it was no use. It never was when he had this dream. Before he could stop himself, he let his head fall onto his knee and took several deep, pained breaths as he fought back the feeling. It was always the same. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget what he'd done that day.

After several minutes, Dean got a grip on himself. He glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was nearing eleven. Taking a deep breath, he got up and got dressed, not really knowing where he was going until he was in the Impala and driving down the dark road back towards Stanford. It was stupid to try and talk to Sam this late, but he had to try. Had to let him know how he'd been feeling ever since coming back to that empty motel all those months ago.

_I need to clear my head_, Dean thought as he drove passed a dark stretch of trees. He rolled the window down and allowed the cool night air to play across his skin. It was stinging, but nonetheless pleasant. He braked to make a turn and in the brief, almost infinitesimal moment when the noise from the engine subdued he heard something that made him frown.

Someone out there was screaming. After making the turn which lead to the opposite side of the campus near the sorority and fraternity houses, Dean stopped the car and listened. There was no mistaking it this time. Somebody was screaming in the night. As memory of the murder hit him like a ton of bricks, Dean scrambled out of the car, checking to make sure he had his knife on him.

Only when he was outside did he recognize the scream.

It was Sam.

His blood cold, Dean tore through the night, down the road and passed the trees. He could see the campus in the distance but the screams were coming from somewhere nearby, in the trees. Dean turned when he reached the clear field beyond the trees and ran along the edge of the forest, hearing the cries for help coming closer and closer. He stopped and listened. Someone was crashing through the trees nearby. Turning, he collided with Sam, who let out a cry and began pounding his fists against Dean in blind panic and anger.

"I'll kill you!" His little brother screamed, "I'll fucking kill you!"

Somehow under the assault from Sam's fists, Dean managed to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him roughly.

"Get a hold of yourself Sasquatch!" He said sharply. Sam stopped and looked at Dean, his eyes streaming with tears, his face covered in dirt. There was something red on Sam's hands, something that looked like blood. With a small moan, Sam fell forward onto Dean's chest. Dean caught him and held him against him tightly, rocking him back and forth as he cried into the night air.

What the fuck had happened now?

"He's dead, Dean." Sam sobbed. "Oh God...it was tied to the back of the car...I killed him Dean...he was on the roof...I should've checked..."

"Shh." Dean whispered. "You didn't kill anybody Sam. It wasn't your fault. C'mon." Gently, he helped Sam to his feet. Sam slumped against Dean's shoulder as the two brothers walked through the night back to the Impala. Sam's sobs had turned to sniffles by the time Dean got them back to the car, but he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

"Of fuck…I should've known…I could've saved him…" Sam gasped.

"Sammy, just...just take it easy, okay? We're going to go back to town and then we'll talk this over, alright?" Dean hoped he didn't sound too insensitive. His first and foremost concern was for his little brother and anything else would have to wait.

Sam said nothing but leaned against the window and stared straight ahead. When they reached the town, Dean helped him out of the car and into his motel room. There, Dean practically frog marched Sam to the shower and told him not to come out until he felt ready. In the meanwhile, Dean made a pot of coffee and set two mugs out on the small table.

It was almost thirty minutes before Sam came out of the shower. He looked a little better, but his eyes were still haunted and his hands shook when Dean handed him the coffee mug.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked softly.

Sam took a deep breath and a long gulp of coffee and tried to speak but only let out a small moan.

Dean bit his lip. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Was it...Damon?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam looked up at him, his face the very picture of shock.

"How did you know about him?" He asked in a small voice.

Dean shrugged. "I...uh...met Sasha today and she told me about you two."

Sam shook his head. "And I thought it was a secret." He took another calming breath and then said, "We were...going to work it out tonight, Dean. I went by the frat house and he took me to this little clearing in the woods...we talked in his car...it was...it was great. He apologized for acting like such an asshole and...well...we were..." Sam closed his eyes again and Dean understood at once what Sam and Damon had been doing in the woods and, in spite of himself, he felt jealousy rear its head. Even though it was more than likely that Damon was now dead, Dean couldn't help but feel green with envy at the way Sam spoke of him. Damon must have meant a lot to him for Sam to be speaking this way and to be taking his death so hard.

Shaking the feeling off, Dean asked, "What happened next?"

Sam's voice shook again. "He had to step out...and I waited...and...oh God...the killer...he must've got him when he was out there...and I didn't do anything." Sam's lip trembled and Dean instinctively put a hand over his brother's. Sam gazed at Dean's hand over his for several moments, his expression dazed but he did not pull away. Instead, he continued, trying hard to control himself. "I went out to look for him and...the killer was there...wearing a parka...and I went back into the car...fuck, I should've looked on the roof...there were...thumping noises and I tried to drive away but the killer...I put the car in reverse and...and...his...body..."

Sam could not go on. He buried his face in his hands, his whole frame shaking. Dean got out of his chair and wrapped his arms around Sam, who did not object to this show of affection but leaned into Dean's embrace and continued to sob until he couldn't anymore. After several moments of silence, Dean realized that Sam had cried himself to sleep.

His eyes bright, Dean gently got Sam to his feet and lead him to the bedroom and helped him into the bed that was barely big enough to hold him. Dean turned to leave the room, and as he did so, a small voice caused him to turn back.

"Thanks...Dean..." Sam mumbled, his eyes shut.

Dean smiled gently at his brother from the door. "Anytime Sammy. I'll always be there."

Once back in the living room, Dean went right for his bag and the _Encyclopedia of Urban Legends _that Sasha had signed out for him. What had happened to Damon...it sounded familiar. Not quite how Dean had remembered it, but it was too close to be a coincidence. To his surprise, there were a few pages of the book that were dog-eared. Frowning, Dean opened the book to the first place marked and felt himself go cold.

It was an illustration of a young man hanging upside down from a tree branch over a car. His throat was slit open and the young woman in the car was looking up at the roof in fear. The Lover's Lane killer legend...somebody had been looking at it.

Dean turned to the inside cover of the book and let out a low gasp of shock.

Dated the day before yesterday under the name Brenda Bates and above the name Sasha Thomas…was the name Damon Brooks.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had no idea where he was when he woke in the pale morning light. For several moments, he simply lay on the comfortable bed that was not his own with his eyes shut, half hoping that everything last night had been a terrible nightmare or vision and that he'd open his eyes to find himself still in his dorm room with Paul giving him the usual cheeky morning greeting. But he knew this was just a response to what had actually happened. Denying the truth was a way of blocking out the harsh reality of Damon's death.

Damon...

Sam eyes snapped open as he pictured the other boy's face hovering over his in the jeep. No, he couldn't think of this, not now. The killer needed to be caught. Propping himself up on his elbow, Sam became aware of several things at once. First of all, he was in a motel room that he didn't remember ever coming to. Secondly, he was only in his boxers. And finally and most dimly, he recognized the noise of the television from just outside his room. Rolling over, he saw that a clock on the night side table read 6:30 in the morning. It was passed eleven when Damon had been murdered.

Thinking of Damon caused a new wash of grief to pass of Sam and he quickly jumped out of bed, trying hard to leave it behind. It was hurting too much to think about what he and Damon could have had again if the killer had picked a different target. Finding his things neatly laid out next to the bed, Sam dressed. As he did so, he remembered the details of what had occurred after he'd been attacked last night; running through the woods, screaming for help. His throat did in fact feel scratchier than normal and he had to take several breaths to ease the dull ache in his vocal chords.

He paused, looking around the room as more memories came back. He'd tumbled blindly through the trees and run into someone...someone who had taken him back here. Trembling slightly, Sam silently pushed the door open and looked out into the living room where the television was on, the volume so low that he could just hear it. He knew who it was that he would find on the couch before he got there. It was Dean who had saved him last night and taken him here, Dean who had given up his bed for Sam.

His older brother was laying on the small couch with his jacket over him as a blanket, his eyes closed, breathing evenly in his sleep. For several moments, Sam simply knelt beside the couch, watching Dean sleeping and felt love for his brother course through his veins. Dean had come to his rescue last night. It was a miracle that he'd been able to find Sam at all. Despite his obvious uncomfortable sleeping space, Dean looked peaceful. Sam smiled softly and placed a hand gently over Dean's heart, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed.

He had trouble placing just how he felt at the moment. He was still reeling from Damon's death but seeing Dean here helped to ease that pain somewhat. He was grateful that Dean had found him last night and had taken care of him once he'd reached the motel. Despite how calm he felt at that moment, Sam couldn't also help but feel slightly ashamed for the way he'd treated Dean earlier the previous day, how easily he'd forgotten about him under Damon's touch. Sam had caused such a scene in the library and yet Dean still felt the need to take care of him. It'd always been that way between them. Sam always had to be making the big waves while Dean was there to quiet him down...protect him...love him.

Before he could stop himself, Sam leaned over the arm of the couch and, with his face parallel to Dean's, gently kissed his big brother on his soft lips. A small part of him was saying that this was a complete disregard for Dean's wishes and that it would only lead to more trouble between them. But Sam was far from caring anymore. What had happened last night had served to remind him that time was not on his side and he had to get what he could, even if it meant Spider-man kissing his slumbering big brother.

Damon had kissed him like this once...

Thinking of Damon's corpse on the hood of the jeep made the dam Sam had tried to build burst. With his lips still against Dean's, Sam let the tears fall. For Damon, for Dean and for how fucked up this all was.

He didn't notice his tears fall on Dean's face. He didn't feel Dean stir or even know that he was awake until Dean's lips parted in surprise. For a brief moment Sam expected Dean to pull away and rebuff him, but to his surprise he felt Dean's lips graze against his.

They stayed like that for longer than was probably necessary. Sam's neck was starting to ache, but he didn't care. This is what he'd wanted ever since seeing Dean yesterday morning. He could scarcely believe that Dean had been here for less than twenty four hours. So much had happened. Hesitantly, Sam ran his tongue along Dean's lower lip. For a moment, Dean stiffened and then allowed Sam entry into his mouth.

God I need this, Sam thought as Dean's arm curled over his shoulder and stroked his back as well he could from his position on the couch. The very softness of the kiss reminded Sam of just how different his brother was from Damon. Damon and Sam had always been on a level playing field, mostly due to their age. Sam couldn't count on Damon to be selfless and protecting like Dean was. Damon hadn't been a bad person by any stretch of the imagination, but he lacked Dean's inner strength. And damn it if Sam didn't like feeling protected by his big brother.

Sam only broke the kiss when he realized his neck was going numb from being hunched over. Grudgingly, his lips left Dean's. He stared down into Dean's beryl eyes, feeling warmth spread through him like a hot drink.

"Hey..." Sam said softly, testing the waters.

Dean smiled back at him. "Hey..." He sat up on the couch and cleared a space for Sam, who was beside Dean in a heartbeat. Instinctively, Sam sat on Dean's lap facing forward, allowing Dean to wrap his arms around him and rest his head on Sam's shoulder they way they'd used to sit all those months ago.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam inhaled deeply, still not sure of the answer.

"I think so..." He said. "It's just...hard to think about, y'know?"

Dean tightened his embrace around Sam and kissed the top of his forehead.

"I'm so sorry baby," He whispered.

_Why did I ever want him stop calling me that_? Sam thought, kicking himself for being pissed when Dean had called him baby yesterday. It felt too damn good to hear now. Then again, everything felt too good right now. He was getting jaded from having everything taken away from him. Getting Damon back and losing him so quickly...it was too unfair.

"Dean..." Sam said, staring at the early morning cartoon on the television, "Damon's body...it's still there..."

"Do you wanna go back for it?" Dean asked.

"It...it would be right..." Sam said, closing his eyes and picturing the clearing in the early morning light, Damon's corpse lying on the hood of his jeep. He shuddered and blinked several times to stop himself from crying. As he stood there, a strange and terrible thought suddenly struck him. What if this was all just some sort of cruel practical joke that Damon had played on him with the frat boys? Sam's eyes snapped open and he set his chin grimly. If that was the case, then he was _really _going to kill Damon and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Dean didn't move right away. He rested his chin on Sam's shoulder and left it there for several lingering moments, letting his warm breath play across Sam's throat. Sam could tell Dean was debating the advisability of going to check on the murder scene. He himself knew the benefits and drawbacks of going. On one hand, it would allow them to get Damon's body down before the police showed up and pinned the crime on Sam. On the other hand, they would most likely risk running the chance of being caught in the act of doing so and would most likely end up in the police station with some sticky questions to answer.

After a minute or so, Dean said softly, "If you want too...then we'll go and take a look. But if it's too hard for you then we'll just drop an anonymous call to the police."

Sam nodded, not feeling altogether right about the decision. He turned his head to look into Dean's eyes and felt slightly braver. Dean nodded and gave him a quick kiss before gently maneuvering himself out from behind Sam, who stood, feeling dizzy. This was happening too fast and there was nothing he could do to stop it, not that he wanted too. It was just so hard to believe that he and Dean were like this again.

"Dean!" Sam said when Dean made to pick up his jacket. "What exactly does this mean...for us...?"

Dean grinned and shrugged, throwing his jacket on.

"Whatever you want it to be, Sam. I feel a hell of a lot better when we're like this. But let's just be careful for now, okay?"

Sam nodded slowly and followed Dean out the front door into the chilly morning air. There weren't too many people out and about at this time of the day. Most of the students living in residence here didn't have classes until around eight.

It felt a little odd but also reassuring for Sam when he hopped into the passenger's seat of the Impala. This car was home to him in a funny way. Being in here now after all that had happened was like visiting an old town he'd once lived in, familiar, but still oddly different. The smell of leather and the faint scent of pine from the air freshener made him relax a little and once the engine roared to life, he couldn't help but smile.

He glanced over at Dean during the drive from the town to the woods. Dean's forehead was creased in concentration the way it always was when he was focusing on the road. It brought back the countless times he had been in the passenger seat with his brother when John was too tired to drive. He loved watching Dean driving...then again, he just plain loved being able to watch Dean do anything again.

Dean slowed the car down before taking the turn to the stretch of road that led to the woods. In case the cops were already out, driving to the scene would look a little suspicious. Just before Dean cut the engine, Sam impulsively put his hand over his brother's on the steering wheel. Dean glanced at him, mildly surprised at first, but then he grinned and brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Sam's knuckles reassuringly.

This...this was really happening. Would they really be able to go back to what they'd had before?

Taking a deep breath, Sam hopped out of the car and followed Dean down the road, not really knowing what to say. The fact that they'd be at the place where Damon had been killed last night began to flash through Sam's mind in rapid succession. He saw everything like it was a movie. The tree...the jeep...Damon falling from the branch where he'd been strung up, connected to the end of the car...

"Shit..." Dean muttered, throwing an arm out to stop Sam from moving forward. Sam could see it too, even in the pale morning light, the red and blue lights flashing just around the turn off. Cautiously, he and Dean looked around the trees and saw several patrol cars parked at the entrance to the dusty path that led to the clearing. Dean put a finger to his lips and led Sam quickly to the other side of the road. Without hesitation, they plunged into the trees and began to walk as quietly as possible towards the general direction of the clearing.

It took them all of ten minutes to do so. Dean stopped moving when they could just see the clearing ahead of them. To Sam's horror, the jeep was still there, the rope dangling from the branch. There was a white sheet covering the hood where Sam knew Damon's body was. Several police officers and members of campus security were on the scene, appraising the murder site before them with grave expressions.

They were too far off for Sam to hear what they were saying, but he was pretty sure they were all thinking the same thing.

Urban legend...

It was too damn close to the actual story to be a coincidence. Even with the rope being tied to the end of the car so that the only way Damon could have been killed was if the roof he'd been dangling over had been driven out from under him...the only way he could have died is if Sam had driven away, which he had.

At this thought, Sam felt himself begin to shake violently. The killer had set this up so that Sam would take the blame. Even if the cops didn't see it, there was no denying that he'd been the one to knock the figurative chair out from under Damon's feet, lynching him in seconds. It hadn't been a joke after all...Damon really was dead...

"Fuck." He moaned, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. Damon was dead because of him. He felt Dean put a comforting arm around his shoulder, not saying anything. They'd be risking discovery if they spoke, even in the slightest whisper. Sam simply stood there, his eyes jammed shut, trying to fight back the overwhelming sense of guilt, Dean's arm around him bracingly.

A roar split the stillness of the woods and Sam jumped, snapping his head in the direction of the clearing where somebody was cursing up a storm in a voice choked with anguished rage. Birds flew out of the branches at the mourner's yells and Sam didn't need to see the person to realize who it was.

Parker was freaking out. A burly security officer moved aside and Sam was able to see Parker, sitting on the front of the lone police cruiser with his head in his hands. Of course he was here. Who else would have known that Sam was going out with Damon last night? Parker must have been the one to come out looking for his frat brother and had probably phoned the police too. But if that was the case...

"Shit," Sam said softly, "Jesus fucking Christ..."

"Whoa there potty mouth, " Dean said, peering at Sam in confusion, "what the hell's wrong?"

"That's Parker Riley," Sam said as quietly as possible, "he's the ringleader of the fraternity Damon belonged too. He...he knew we were out here last night Dean...fuck...he probably thinks I did it..."

Dean clenched his jaw, staring at the clearing with hard eyes.

"C'mon," he said. "We need to get out of here. Go back to your dorm and get your things. We'll stay at the motel."

Silently, they crept back from the scene of the crime and did not speak until they were out of the woods and back in the Impala, driving towards the campus.

"Even if this Parker guy thinks you're the killer, there's no way to -"

"There's plenty of ways to prove it, Dean." Sam said wearily. "There's probably trace evidence all over the seat of the car. And footprints...and I'm pretty sure they'll find my DNA on Damon..." He turned a little pink and did not look at Dean as he said this. For some reason, even hinting that he and Damon had been making out last night seemed hard to admit to Dean. However, Dean said nothing but continued to drive with a deep frown.

"Just tell 'em what happened if they ask." Dean said. "After that Mancini girl the cops are bound to believe anything is possible now. And as for evidence...Sam, I'm sure they'll see other footprints in the dirt. They'll know there was someone else out there with you and Damon last night. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be Parker."

Sam felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Fuck, Dean..." He said, his eyes widening, "you don't think the killer's on campus do you?"

Dean said nothing, but Sam could tell by his expression that this was exactly what he was thinking. The possibility that there was a killer possibly among Sam's group of friends made his blood run cold and he huddled into his seat slightly as they pulled into the campus parking lot. People were already out and about, none of them looking too worried. News of Damon's death had obviously not been made public yet. He and Dean must've come across the police investigation moments after it started.

Dean cut the engine and then turned in his seat to look at Sam, who was staring out the window with his eyes wide as dinner plates. Without warning, he leaned across the space between them and pulled Sam into a tight embrace. Obviously he couldn't show more than that in public. To anyone who knew Dean was Sam's brother this would probably just look like a supportive hug. But Sam knew it meant more.

"You're gonna be okay." Dean murmured into Sam's ear. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"I know." Sam whispered, smiling as the reality sunk in. He and Dean were back to where they'd been before he'd left. Hell they were probably closer in light of all that happened recently.

Dean let go of Sam and looked him square in the eyes.

"I love you," He said firmly.

Sam smiled again.

"I love you too." For a second they simply gazed into each other's eyes, and then Sam chuckled and moved on. "Should I get my urban legend book? It might help."

Dean shrugged. "If you want too. Sasha checked one out for me yesterday in the library so..." He stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. He stared forward, not really seeing Sam, who cocked his head to the side in concern.

"What is it Dean?" Sam asked.

"Jesus," Dean whispered, "I forgot. Last night after you went to bed, I checked the book and...and that legend was book marked...the one about the lover's lane killer...and...Sam, Damon was the last person to sign it out before Sasha."

"What? Why the fuck would he need that book? We got assigned it in class..." Sam trailed off as he recalled something he'd overheard a few days ago. Parker heckling Damon about losing something...had he lost his copy of An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends ? Aloud he asked, "What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Dean said, frowning. "Either Damon was just doing some research for class or...or he had something to do with his own murder..."

Sam shook his head. The odds on that were slim.

"Did you find anything to tie these killings with the supernatural yesterday?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "No. I met Sasha before I could find anything. I don't think she would've found that urban legend book if it wasn't for that spacey redhead."

"What spacey red head?"

Dean screwed up his face, trying to recall whoever it was he and Sasha had met yesterday. "Uh, some girl named Naomi...no, that wasn't it...Natalia..."

"Natalie?" Sam asked in surprise.

Dean nodded absently and then his eyes lit up. "Shit Sam. Sasha told me this Natalie girl was your trophy girlfriend..."

Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to the radio sex therapist to pinpoint the mechanics of his relationship with Natalie. "Yeah...something like that. So she was looking at this book you got out?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Seemed real jumpy too."

Sam bit his lip.

"Fuck me, Dean." He said, letting out a long breath as the implications of what this meant hit him.

Dean looked surprised but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. "Uh...maybe a little later, Sammy..."

Sam punched Dean playfully in the arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter, perv boy. I just realized what this all means..."

"What?"

"It means that anyone on campus could be the killer...even my friends."

Sam stared at Dean, his eyes wide with fear. For a moment, he thought Dean was going to hug him again but before either could act on this notion, a loud tap on the passenger window caused them both to jump a mile. Turning, Sam saw Brenda peering in at them with a broad grin. Some feet behind her, Natalie and Paul were looking on with amusement.

"Friends?" Dean asked, giving Brenda a level look.

Sam nodded, feeling cold all over. "Yeah," he said. "Damn this is gonna be hard."

Dean shrugged and then leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Act normal. I'm gonna search the library some more. Go to your first class and then meet me there when it's over...if you can."

Sam nodded.

"Love you." Dean whispered. Sam grinned and tilted his head so that Brenda wouldn't see him whisper back to his brother.

"Love you too."

Grudgingly he pushed the door open and closed it before Brenda could jump in and start fawning over Dean, who waved at Sam before driving off.

"Damn it!" Brenda pouted. "I wanted to introduce myself."

"I thought you wanted to get with Paul." Sam muttered so that only Brenda could hear. She shrugged.

"Old news." She said with a smirk. "I think Nat's more interested in him." She put a hand on Sam's arm and stopped him just out of earshot of Natalie and Paul. "Make a killing last night?"

Sam looked down at Brenda in horror before he realized she was referring to his scoring with Damon. Of course Brenda couldn't have known about Damon's death. Sam shook his head. There was no way in hell someone as chipper and pleasant as Brenda Bates could be a cold blooded psychopath.

"Uh.." he said, not sure of whether to tell them about Damon or not. Deciding not to, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Brenda rolled her eyes and limped off to join Natalie and Paul. Sam cocked his head to the side as he watched her go. He hadn't noticed Brenda's limp yesterday. She must've gotten that during a swimming practice.

They headed to the student lounge. Sam felt it incredibly disconcerting to be acting like everything was all hunky dory when he knew it would only be a matter of time before news of Damon's murder reached the student body. Despite Dean's assurances, he was still worried over what the police and campus security would think when they found out that Sam had been in the car with Damon last night.

"How's the Stanley Hall article going?" Brenda asked Paul as the four of them sat by their usual place near the fire in the lounge. Paul shrugged.

"Well, I got the Mancini murder pretty much covered, so Stanley Hall should be out by tomorrow. I...uh...had to fabricate a few things. I wanted to see if there were any survivors of the massacre but all I got was this guy named Max Wilier Well."

"Who's that?" Natalie asked.

"That's the thing," Paul looked mildly annoyed, "I could only find one article from 1975. Apparently he was a student living in Stanley Hall who jumped out of the window when he heard the noise of the murders. Nobody knows where he is."

"Probably offed himself." Brenda said, idly examining her nails.

_This is normal_, Sam thought_, for us at least. Taking about dead people like it's nothing. Fuck I hope they don't find out about Damon yet..._Even though Dean had told him to act normal, Sam still couldn't help but examine his three friends closely from where he was sitting in his armchair. Did they have any motives? He didn't know a lot about Natalie, so the only thing he could come up with was jealousy, possibly over Damon and Sam's relationship. But that didn't explain why Michelle Mancini had been killed. Besides, he and Natalie weren't exactly that close so she'd have no reason to murder Damon out of jealousy.

Then there was Brenda, who, as far as Sam was concerned, was the last person in the world who he could think of committing murders. She was too damn bubbly and full of life. Besides, he couldn't think of a motive for her.

And then there was Paul, who hadn't come to his dorm room before Sam had gone out last night. As a bloodthirsty reporter, Paul had the strongest motive out of all of them; fame, book deals, Pulitzer awards. It wouldn't be that farfetched to assume that he was killing people after urban legends to get a novel under his belt.

He thought of Parker and Sasha and frowned, starting to feel hideously wrong for thinking of his friends as criminals. Parker he could see, especially since, in all his homophobia, he hated Sam. Well...that accounted for Damon's death at least. And Sasha...no way was Sam going to think about that. Sasha was too damn important to him.

Sam shook his head. This was only making him more miserable by the second.

"You okay?" Natalie asked from the sofa she shared with Brenda.

Sam nodded, starting to feel slightly nauseous. He needed to get some air.

"I'll see you in class." He said, getting to his feet. "I'm...uh, not feeling too well." Natalie nodded, giving him a strange look. This day was getting stranger by the second. Sam didn't know where he was heading until he left the lounge. His feet took him in the direction of the library. He needed to see Dean right now. Class wasn't for another thirty minutes and he was sure he'd be able to have a few moments with his brother before heading off to Wexler's class. Then again, he could just skip and spend the whole morning with Dean. The last thing he wanted this morning was to sit in a class that only yesterday Damon has been attending and talk about urban legends.

He was just outside the library when he saw Parker storming towards him, Sasha trailing behind and talking rapidly, her expression a mixture of annoyance and anger.

Sam knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Parker threw his fist back and prepared to hit Sam in the side of the face. Suddenly several years of repressed hunter instincts came back and Sam dodged swiftly and backed up several inches.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Parker roared, causing several students to look around in surprise.

"Parker would you calm down?" Sasha said irritably.

"He was out there last night, Sasha! He did it!" Parker took another swing and Sam dodged again. He was not prepared for Parker's other arm to calm flying out of nowhere and hit him in the side of the head. Sam staggered and Parker took that opportunity to shove him bodily to the grass. A crowd was gathering around them now.

"Parker!" Sasha said sharply. "Would you just listen for a moment! The cops said that even if Sam was with Damon -"

"They were fucking, Sash!" Parker spat, glaring at Sam with profound hatred.

"Yeah, and?" Sasha was glaring daggers at her boyfriend now. "It's the twenty first century, you dickhead. Who gives a shit what they were doing?"

Parker was breathing like a winded rhinoceros, his face getting redder by the second. Sam pushed himself to his feet, staring levelly at the angered frat boy. He knew getting into a fight with Parker right now would be useless. Besides, Parker wanted Sam to retaliate and Sam was not in the habit of giving someone like Parker what he wanted.

"Damon was my friend!" Parker cried.

"No he wasn't." Sam said quietly before he could stop himself. "He wasn't your friend, Parker. He told me all about the shit you've been doing to him ever since that stunt with the sorority girl."

"What sorority girl?" Sasha glared at Parker suspiciously.

"You didn't know?" Sam asked in mock surprise. "Your man here tried to pressure Damon into having sex with a sorority girl a few months ago." Sasha glared at Parker.

Parker's face contorted in fury.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" He screamed, lunging at Sam.

"Easy there McFrat." From somewhere in the crowd, Dean appeared, pulling Parker back by the scruff of his shirt and throwing him into the circle of people. He flashed a grin at Sam. "Nobody beats up my brother except me."

Parker whirled to face Dean, his face red.

"This is between me and him!" Parker spat.

Dean shook his head.

"Yeah, see that's where you'd be wrong...again. Although I'm pretty damn sure Sam could kick your ass if he really wanted too, I'd rather not have him risk his education on some stupid little frat-tard like you."

Damn, Dean was good.

Parker glared at Dean, not noticing Sasha giggling behind him at Dean's insult.

"Then I'll kick your ass too!" Parker fumed.

"Yes, because you and your sweater vest are very intimidating," Dean mocked.

"YOUR FUCKING FAGGOT BROTHER KILLED MY FRIEND!" Parker screamed.

If looks could kill, Sam was pretty sure Parker would be dead a thousand times over by now. Dean's eyes flashed with deadly green fire and he was tense as a bowstring, waiting to strike Parker down. Sam was all for letting him do it, but someone beat him to the punch.

"No more sex. Ever again." Sasha said icily. All the fight went out of Parker. He turned to stare in horror at the blonde who was glaring daggers at him. She turned on her heel and stormed away, her honey colored hair shining in the early morning sunlight. Parker gaped after her, turned to give Sam and Dean a venomous glare and then sprinted after Sasha who was out of sight by this point.

The crowd dispersed, most of them muttering about what Parker had said.

Sam grinned appreciatively at his older brother who was watching Parker's rapidly retreating figure with pure loathing on his handsome face.

"Thanks." Sam said quietly. "That's the second time you've saved my ass in twenty four hours."

Dean chuckled. "You could've taken him, Sam. I'm pretty sure of it."

Sam wasn't paying attention. He was too busy watching the students whispering among themselves. While he didn't give a rat's ass what they thought about his sexual preference, he felt unease creep over him. Parker had just revealed that Damon was dead. In the distance, Sam saw the police cars pull up to the faculty building. Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Sammy." Dean said.

Sam shook his head. Things were going to get worse before they got better. As the bell chimed the hour from across the campus, Sam turned to the library, all thought of his folk lore class gone. He was needed here with Dean to research whatever they could and stop this motherfucker before they could kill again.

And if the killer turned out to be one Parker Riley well...Sam was seriously going to enjoy bringing the bastard down.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Dean hurried into the library, conscious of the curious stares of the other students, most of whom had witnessed the little scene between Sam and Parker outside. Sam was quite far from giving a shit about what they thought, but it was still a little annoying to notice them whispering about him behind their hands as though he didn't notice.

"We need to find a private place," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"There's a table near the New Age section," Sam answered, nodding in the direction of the library where Dean had first met Sasha only twenty four hours ago. With a nod, Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist and led him over to the secluded table far from the prying eyes of the other students. Sam sat down heavily and took a deep breath, still mildly shell shocked by how much had happened in the space of one day.

"You okay?" Dean asked him, his gaze worried.

Sam nodded and grinned halfheartedly. "I'll be alright. It's just a little...fucked up how much is happening lately." Dean nodded but still maintained his look of concern. Sam rolled his eyes. He would be the first to admit that all the events that had transpired since he'd had his vision were incredibly hard to deal with in such a short space of time, but he wasn't a little kid anymore. He could deal with this. Besides, they had research to do and the longer they spent worrying about Sam's mental state the farther the killer would get from their grasp.

"Dean, I'm fine, really," Sam said his tone insistent and just the smallest bit impatient. "I wanna catch this son of a bitch before they kill someone else. Kay?"

Dean nodded, but still didn't look convinced. Sam shook his head but grinned slightly. Dean was such a mother hen, though he'd probably never admit to it if the subject was brought up.

"Where do we start?" Dean asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't exactly get anywhere with the research yesterday."

Sam grimaced. "I'm about as lost as you are."

"Might as well examine the facts." Dean said, pulling out a small notebook and _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends _from inside his bag and setting them down in front of them on the table. "So far we've got The Backseat Killer," Dean made a note on a fresh page, "which killed Michelle Mancini. And then there's the Lover's Lane legend which killed Damon." He made another note and shook his head. "This is pretty bare bones, Sam. We don't know a lot."

"We know more than most people," Sam said with a sigh. "I was a witness to the murders, remember?"

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Murders? You were only around for Damon's murder, Sam."

_Shit,_ Sam thought, feeling his heart sink. He hadn't told Dean about the vision he'd had the other night. And if Dean was getting all upset over Sam seeing Damon killed, he'd probably be in full on protective mode if Sam told him about his vision of Michelle's murder. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Right now they needed all the help they could get, although Sam could hardly see how having a vision of the first murder would help them in the least.

"Don't get excited," Sam began slowly, "but uh...I kind of...had some sort of weird nightmare vision of Michelle's murder the night before you showed up."

_Now I've done it_, Sam thought, _Dean's gonna have a total bitch fit now. Should've just kept my mouth shut_. When he finally chanced to look up at his brother, he saw that his fears were justified. Dean looked both angry and worried.

"Please don't freak out," Sam said quietly.

Dean shook his head. "It's fine Sam. I…I just wish you'd told me earlier."

"I didn't want you getting all mother hen on me."

Dean glowered at him darkly and then shook his head again. "Whatever. I can't help but get all protective on you Sammy. Especially now. If you really did see Michelle's murder then...well..." Dean trailed off and suddenly looked as though he wished he hadn't said anything at all. Sam knew why. The thought had crossed his mind ever since he'd realized one of his friends could possibly be at the bottom of the murders.

"You think I'm the target," Sam said as though it was a throw away statement of no real importance.

Dean shrugged. "It's possible."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"How much of Michelle's death did you see?"

"All of it. The gas station, the beheading...everything. It was like a movie or something. Thought it was just a nightmare til I heard the news report."

Dean clenched his jaw tightly and looked intensely into Sam's eyes..

"I don't mean to be worried," He said softly. "It's just...these visions haven't exactly been random things in the past."

Sam nodded again and then sat up straighter in his chair, pulling the book towards him. He opened the cover and looked down at the list of people who had checked the book out previously. It felt faintly odd to see Damon's name on the check out list. A glance over the card showed him that Brenda had checked it out before Damon. He frowned.

"That's weird," He muttered.

"What?" Dean asked, sitting forward.

"Brenda checked the book out before Damon...but she's also in my folk lore class so..." He trailed off and glanced at the date. He chuckled. "Never mind. She checked it out five days ago, which was before Professor Wexler told us we were going to need this book for class." Damn he was getting jumpy.

"What do you think Damon wanted with it?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he lost his copy or something, but I don't see why he would check it back in. Not unless he found it again." He shook his head. This was getting them nowhere. He turned to the dog-eared pages and grimaced when he saw the illustration for the Lover's Lane murder. "Our books don't have illustrations," Sam said with a frown. "The style of these drawings looks familiar." On a hunch, he turned to the table of contents and found where the Babysitter legend was listed. Upon turning to the indicated page, he let out a small gasp.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"This picture...the whole damn drawing style looked familiar but I couldn't place it until just now. These are the same pictures that Professor Wexler used for the projection slide in class yesterday."

"Did he check the book out?" Dean asked, leaning in and looking at the black and white illustration. Sam checked the index card and shook his head.

"No. The only people who checked this out who are actually in my class were Brenda and Damon."

"Maybe Brenda checked it out for Wexler?" Dean suggested.

Sam shrugged and then looked at the next bookmarked page. It was an illustration of a young woman in dark room, staring in horror at the wall in front of her. Lying on the bed under the wall was another young woman, her throat slit. On the wall in grisly writing, presumably written in the dead girl's blood was the phrase "_Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light_?"

Sam shuddered and shut the book. He felt Dean put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"We can stop if you want too," Dean said softly.

Sam shook his head.

"No. We need to keep going."

Dean nodded. "Where should we start?"

"Ghosts," Sam said. "And I guess demons and ancient entities. You never know with shit like this." Dean nodded again and the two of them got to their feet to peruse the New Age section. Since this particular area of the library was small, they didn't find as much as they would've hoped for. Dean managed to procure two books, one about demonic possession and one about ghosts, while Sam found a book on ancient beings and pagan rituals.

It was slow, boring work. Sam honestly wondered if he was going to find anything useful in either book. Most of the stuff detailed in them could probably be found in the contents of his father's ratty old leather bound journal. Usually he loved the research aspect of hunting, but now that this case was taking on a personal twist he just wanted to be out there killing the shit out of whatever was responsible for this.

Once or twice he glanced up at Dean only to find his brother deep in concentration. Sam could almost laugh at how their roles had reversed. Usually he was the one who was burying his nose in the pages of some dusty old tome while Dean was itching to be shooting some kind of dark horror in the face. Shaking his head, Sam looked down at the copy of _Entities of the Ancient World _and tried to focus on the passage he was reading.

_...while the Ancient Greeks feared and respected the Furies, some also believed that they could be harnessed for magical purposes. Some theories suggest that a person seeking vengeance could call upon one of the three Furies; Tisiphone for revenge of a murder, Megaera for revenge of infidelity and Alecto for revenge against one who has angered the summoner. Although evidence is scarce, certain Neo-Pagan groups staunchly believe that summoning the Furies is possible and that they can exact vengeance any way the summoner..._

"Find anything interesting?" Dean asked.

Sam stretched. "Nope. Not unless you count the Ancient Greek version of Josie and the Pussycats being summoned by Neo-Pagans."

Dean chuckled. "All I got was pretty much what I already know. Ghosts and demons...it's all elementary school stuff to us."

Sam sighed. "So much for research then."

Dean patted his hand reassuringly. "Don't give up yet, Sam. We'll find something."

Sam smiled faintly but knew that Dean was just trying to make him feel better. He was grateful for that, but at the same time he really just wanted to get out and do something so that nobody else would be killed.

"I wish Dad was here," Sam muttered without thinking. He blinked. Had he really just said that? He looked up at Dean apologetically and was not surprised to see Dean giving him a flat look.

"You don't mean that," Dean said.

"You're right," Sam said. "I didn't. It's just frustrating, y'know?"

Dean nodded. "I know."

Sam smiled at his brother and leaned in for a hug when a loud buzzing filled the library. Sam frowned. That was the signal for an intercom message, which they usually only got in case there was an emergency.

"All students please head to the auditorium for an important message from the dean."

"Oh shit." Sam buried his face in his hands. "Damon. This is about him."

Dean grimaced and helped Sam to his feet. "C'mon," he said, "we might as well go and see what they say."

"What if they really think I did it?" Sam said, feeling his hands begin to shake at the prospect of going to prison.

"They won't," Dean said firmly.

Together they joined the throng of students who, unlike them, were looking puzzled and just a bit worried. Some of them glanced at Sam and muttered to their friends, obviously thinking this was to do with the little scuffle between him and Parker that had taken place in front of the library.

As he and Dean headed out towards the building that housed the main theater, Sam felt himself begin to go into panic mode and once or twice had to suppress the urge to grab Dean's hand for support. It probably wouldn't be a very good thing to have this kind of display of affection in public, especially when Sam was sure he was going to be going to the slammer after the assembly.

"I'm gonna stick out like a sore thumb," Dean muttered as they neared the large brick building near the faculty office. "Maybe I should sit at the back."

"You're not leaving me alone in there," Sam hissed, barely disguising the anxiety in his voice. "Nobody's gonna say anything, alright? We've got people who aren't students coming in and out of here all the time."

"Like who?"

"Family. And reporters sometimes. People wanting to see how the school's doing."

They filed in through the big double doors. Sam glanced around and managed to make out the back of Natalie's flaming red hair next to the bushy mass of curls that was the back of Brenda's head. They were too far away for him to tap on the shoulder and were engrossed in a whispered conversation similar to the one Sam and Dean had shared. They probably wouldn't notice him if he called. Besides, right at the moment he wanted to be as close to Dean as possible. He felt safer that way.

The auditorium was packed full of students, all of whom carried similar looks of concern and confusion. Sam noticed Parker sitting near the back as he and Dean came in and avoided the other boy's gaze. Not out of fear. Sam wasn't remotely afraid of Parker, but he'd rather not risk another scene like that one outside the library. He managed to find Sasha, who was sitting near the front row. She noticed Sam and Dean, smiled and waved for them to take the two seats next to her.

Taking his brother's wrist, Sam led them to the seats next to Sasha and sat down.

"I didn't think they'd release the news of Damon's death this early," Sasha whispered, glancing nervously at the stage where the dean and most of the faculty were standing looking grave with several police officers and members of campus security next to them. Sam tried hard not to look at them too long, still fearing every second that he was going to end up in jail because of Parker.

Sasha noticed his anxiety and patted his hand comfortingly.

"Don't worry, Sammy," She said.

"I've been trying to tell him that," Dean muttered.

Sasha grinned bracingly. "As far as I could tell from all Parker's rambling, the cops aren't going to put anybody away until they've collected enough concrete evidence."

"What did they find?" Sam asked before he could stop himself.

Sasha shrugged. "No idea. I don't think they're taking Parker's accusation seriously, though."

"Accusation?" Dean asked, a dark look passing over his handsome face. Sam felt himself go cold. So Parker had told the cops about his being out there with Damon last night.

The blonde bit her lip and glanced back. All the seats in the auditorium were filled with students. The assembly would begin any second now.

"Parker kinda...told the police he thought that Sam was the killer."

"I'll kill him!" Dean spat angrily.

"Calm down muscle man." Sasha said with a small grin. "They investigators didn't really seem convinced. I think they think Parker's just reacting out of grief, although I don't see why. It's not like he and Damon were particularly close, even if they were frat brothers."

The dean stepped up to the podium and dead silence fell over the assembled students.

"It's with a heavy heart that I must announce that early this morning the police found the body of Mr. Damon Brooks in the woods near the Theta Delta Fraternity House."

There were several gasps from the students and a new buzz of conversation began that instantly died when the dean resumed talking.

"In light of recent events," Sam was sure he was talking about Michelle Mancini's murder, "campus security has decided to issue a curfew of ten o'clock at night. Please be advised that this is being done for your safety. Also, the clearing in the woods behind the fraternity house is considered a crime scene so please steer clear of it." The dean's gaze swept to a specific student. Sam turned in his seat and saw the dean was obviously addressing Paul, who already had a look of anticipation on his face.

"I'm sure many of you knew Mr. Brooks," the dean continued, "and our guidance counselors will be available to talk to any of you should you feel the need -"

"Was it an urban legend style murder?" Paul's voice interrupted. Most of the students turned to stare at him. Natalie and Brenda, who were sitting either side of Paul looked mortified.

"That is neither here, no there, Mr. Gardener," The dean replied icily. "Please treat this matter with some sensitivity. Now then...you all have classes to attend. Good afternoon."

For several seconds, the students simply sat, stunned by the abrupt end to the assembly and by the news of another murder. Then they started to stand up and file out of the auditorium.

"Look at Wexler!" Sasha hissed.

Sam and Dean both looked in unison up at the stage where they saw Professor Wexler conversing rapidly with the dean and several of the police officers. He looked uncomfortable and Sam noticed his hands were shaking.

"What do you make of it, Miss Body Language?" Dean asked Sasha, who grinned and then stood with them to join the mass of students leaving the room.

"He's obviously affected by this in a big way," Sasha said. "Though judging from how the dean and the cops seemed to be questioning him, I'm sure they might be worried that he's involved somehow."

"Maybe he's the killer?" Dean suggested.

Sasha shrugged. "Could be."

Sam said nothing. He thought back to what Brenda had said earlier the previous day, about it being odd that Wexler's seminar on urban legends started at pretty much the same time the murders started occurring. Even if Wexler wasn't involved, supernaturally or otherwise, was it so far-fetched to think that perhaps one of his students had been a little too over-eager in their studies?

As Sam, Sasha and Dean left the building, they heard someone calling Sam's name. Sam turned and saw Brenda rushing toward him, her limp seemingly gone and her eyes over bright. She pulled Sam into a tight hug.

"I can't believe it!" She said, suppressing a sob. "D-Damon...I mean, yeah he was a complete douche, but holy shit! This is...oh my God...and that Mancini girl in like less than two days!"

"I know," Sam said, patting her comfortingly on the back. "It's...a lot to take in, huh?"

Brenda looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked mildly confused for a moment, her mind seemingly racing rapidly. Sam could almost see her put two and two together. Then she let out a small moan and hugged him again.

"Oh fuck!" She sobbed, "S-Sam you weren't…out there with him last night were you?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Sam! You must be post traumatic by now!"

"M'fine, Brenda," Sam said, starting to feel a little embarrassed. "Really."

She nodded and let go, turning and nodding at Sasha and Dean, who were looking on awkwardly.

"Where's Nat?" Sam asked.

Brenda turned around and peered into the crowd and then pointed to the stairs beside the auditorium. Natalie was sitting by them on a stone bench, her head in her hands, her long red hair obscuring her face. Sam bit his lip and turned to Sasha and Dean.

"Look," he said, "could you guys maybe meet me later? I'm gonna go see Natalie."

They both nodded. Dean lingered, giving Sam a curious look.

"Don't worry," Sam said, hastily. "I'm still coming back to the motel. Just...come to my dorm room when you're ready to leave if I don't have a chance to get to you guys at the library."

Dean nodded again and followed Sasha in the direction of the library.

Together, Sam and Brenda hurried to Natalie's side. The bell for the hour rang out, booming loud and clear from the bell tower over the green. Sam had lost track of time in the library.

Natalie did not look up at them right away. She sat with her head down, breathing deeply. She wasn't crying, as far as Sam could tell, but there was no doubt that something was upsetting her.

Tentatively, he rubbed her back in a way that he hoped would calm her down. After a minute she looked up at the both of them and took a deep breath.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Natalie shook her head.

"No," She said her voice hoarse and low.

Sam glanced at Brenda, not knowing what to say. The brunette was clutching the end of her necklace, her eyes bright with concern for Natalie.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

Natalie took a deep breath again.

"You were there last night, weren't you?" she asked. Sam blinked. Natalie's tone was not accusing. As a matter of fact she seemed to be genuinely curious. Sam looked at Brenda again. She shrugged and then nodded, obviously thinking the truth was better than lying.

"Yeah Nat...I was..." Sam said gently.

Natalie smiled wryly. "Don't be so nervous, Sam. I get what happened with you and Damon. I mean...you're a nice guy and everything but this...relationship...I never really thought of you as a more than a friend."

Sam grinned in spite of himself. At least he and Natalie had been on the same page about their charade of a relationship.

"Was...was it really...an urban legend murder?" Natalie asked her breath hitching.

Sam bit his lip. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Brenda was looking at him intently. She obviously wanted to know too.

"Yeah..." He said. "The Lover's Lane legend. You know...the one where the guy goes to get gas and leaves his girlfriend in the car."

"And she hears noises from the roof," Brenda said softly. Sam nodded. "Jesus Christ, Sam..." Brenda murmured her eyes bright again. "How the hell are you still sane?

"No idea," Sam replied. Natalie said nothing, but stared out over the quad, her eyes distant her expression unreadable. Sam wished he had Sasha's ability to read body language. Obviously these deaths were affecting Natalie more than she was letting on. He thought back to the previous day. She'd seemed incredibly upset at Michelle Mancini's murder, more upset than the rest of them. Sam had attributed that to Natalie being more sensitive than the rest of them, but there had to be something more for her to be acting this way.

"I knew Michelle Mancini," Natalie said in an offhand voice.

Sam felt his jaw drop and heard Brenda let out a gasp beside him.

"Are you serious?" Brenda asked.

Natalie nodded.

"We were friends in high school, both of us on the cheerleading team."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sam asked her in amazement.

Natalie sighed. "Because for the passed two years I've been trying to forget about her."

"Why?" Both Sam and Brenda asked at the same time.

Natalie inhaled deeply and when she spoke next, her tone was not laden with sorrow or regret. It was bitter and filled with self loathing. "It was before graduation. We were coming back from visiting a friend late one night and we were driving down this stretch of deserted road in my car. Michelle was at the wheel because I'd had a little to drink at our friend's place. She started telling me about this urban legend, about how gangs would travel empty back roads with their headlights off and when the first car that drove passed flashed their high beams to signal to them to turn their lights on they would drive them off the road. Ever heard of it?"

Sam nodded. He'd remembered hearing something like this when he was still living with Dean and his father.

"Well," Natalie continued in the same tone, still staring out over the quad, "we drove on for a few minutes after she told me the legend. Then...we saw another car approaching, driving in the opposite lane. Michelle...she...she looked kinda...crazy. She turned the lights of the car off and kept driving. We were both laughing like hyenas. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with me? I thought it was funny and just about busted a gut when the other driver flashed his high beams. Even when Michelle turned into the other lane and started chasing the car down, I just laughed like crazy. Then...we were getting closer and closer and...I could see his face...he was our age...and he looked really scared...I tried telling Michelle to stop but...she just...she kept going and then..."

Natalie let out a small moan and buried her face in her hands again. Sam slid off of the bench, knelt down in front of her and hugged her tightly as she shook with suppressed sobs. After a moment, she calmed down, thanked Sam and shook her hair out of her face.

"Michelle drove him off the road and his car flipped. He died at the scene. The cops put us on probation because we were still minors. Just a few hundred hours of community service. We never spoke again after that. I thought I'd never see her again and...well...now that this is happening I can't help but feel like...like I deserve it somehow..."

Sam glanced at Brenda and saw that she was staring at her best friend with her eyes wide, her hand clutching her necklace even tighter.

"You didn't do anything wrong..." Sam said, although he didn't really feel what he was saying was true. "You weren't-"

"I wasn't driving." Natalie finished for him, her tone still bitter. "But it was my car, Sam. And I was there. I could've stopped her and I didn't. I mean...I know this is horrible but I wasn't terribly upset to hear about her death, y'know? It's...fitting in some way. But Damon...why couldn't the killer have come for me?"

"Maybe they will," Brenda said. Sam and Natalie gave her looks of surprise. Brenda blinked and shook her head. "Oh fuck, Nat that was awful. I'm sorry. It's just..."

"Maybe you're right," Natalie said thoughtfully. "I wonder what urban legend I'll be."

"Gerbilling?" Sam suggested, trying to cheer her up. "Or maybe you'll find an alligator in your toilet bowl."

Natalie laughed, smiling at Sam. "Damn," she said, "why are all the nice ones into guys?"

Sam chuckled, hugging her once more. "You'll be fine, Nat. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Me either," Brenda said. "I'd like to see that son of a bitch try and get through me. My body is a dangerous weapon."

"Especially when co-ordination is involved." Sam muttered. Brenda punched him in the shoulder but grinned nonetheless.

"Thanks guys," Natalie said quietly. "I guess...I guess I've just got survivor's guilt or something." She glanced across the quad again and suddenly a thoughtful gleam came into her eyes. "Where's Paul?"

"Probably scouring the crime scene." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Why?"

"I think I should tell him about me and Michelle. It might lure the killer out."

"You're not using yourself as bait, girlie," Brenda said warningly. "I won't let you."

"Tough," Natalie said with a smirk. Brenda glared at Natalie and then shook her head. "Look," she said, "we've got a class in like half an hour and I still haven't had lunch. Nat, let's go get some food. It might make you feel better."

Natalie nodded and stood up. "Wanna join us?" she asked Sam.

Sam shook his head. "No, I need to meet up with my brother and Sasha in the library."

"Sasha's with your brother?" Brenda asked, looking furious. "Ugh. It's not fair!"

Sam shook his head and watched them go, feeling incredibly uneasy. Natalie's revelation had put a whole new spin on the case he and Dean were trying to solve. It made sense to bump off Michelle after what she'd done. But Damon...he was innocent. Unless the killer wanted to get to Natalie through her friends. If that was the case and Natalie was the intended target, then that meant that Sam's theory about himself being the one the killer was after came to nothing and he was in as much danger as anybody else Natalie so much as talked too.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite being rattled by Natalie's revelation, Sam managed to shake off the feeling of being a deer in the headlights in a matter of seconds. Honestly, he felt an odd sense of morbid relief. Knowing that he wasn't the killer's intended target obviously made him feel a little better, but it was at the expense that Natalie would be the one being victimized instead of him and the hunter in Sam couldn't stand by and let an innocent person suffer.

So, after a few seconds of sitting and merely staring across the quad, he got to his feet and headed off in the direction of the library, trying to figure out exactly what their next step was. He and Dean had barely managed to scratch the surface in their research and Sam wondered if maybe, just maybe, the killer was a regular human being and his visions were now extending beyond the supernatural and to the commonplace. It wasn't something he particularly cared to admit. Visions of monsters and demons were one thing, but he would be damned if he was going to become the Miss Cleo of the crime fighting world.

Sasha and Dean were sitting at the table that Sam and Dean had previously occupied before the assembly. She looked a little confused and Sam suddenly felt panic rising in his throat. Of course Sasha had no idea what he and Dean really were and she probably wouldn't be too keen on hearing theories of demonic possession. He half jogged over to the table and slid into the chair next to Dean, his heart hammering.

"You and your brother certainly have...interesting tastes," Sasha said, gesturing at the open books on the table.

Sam grinned, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah, well...y'know. Ghosts are cool." Damn that sounded lame, even to him. Beside him he saw Dean roll his eyes. Sam wondered how long Dean had been in here trying to explain himself to Sasha.

Sasha snorted. "Ghosts are cool?" She repeated in disbelief. "You've never shown a lot of interest in things that go bump in the night before now." She eyed them carefully and glanced back down at the books on the table. Sam could practically hear her mind turning, trying to piece things together. After a second, Sasha shook her head and ran her hands through her long blonde hair. "This...this stuff is related to the murders, isn't it?"

Sam turned to Dean, who looked as torn as Sam felt. On one hand, telling Sasha the truth might give them the added benefit of having her help them unravel the murders, but if they tried explaining themselves she'd probably think they were nuts. Sam had seen it happen one too many times before with people his father and Dean had tried to let in on their line of work. Until people actually saw proof of the supernatural with their own eyes, they tended to be skeptical and Sasha, with her interest in human psychology, probably didn't believe in ghosts and monsters.

"Well?" Sasha asked, eying them pointedly.

"We think it does." Dean finally admitted with a small sigh.

Sasha shook her head and leaned back in her chair.

"We're not entirely sure," Sam added hastily. "It's just...well...we don't really have anything to go on and we thought that maybe there was something...y'know, not entirely normal behind everything."

"And you're taking it upon yourselves to solve two brutal murders because...?" Sasha was giving both Sam and Dean a droll look that suggested she was highly amused by this. "Look, as much as I like you boys I really don't like being kept in the dark about important stuff, especially when it involves people I know."

Sam bit his lip.

"We're not asking you to help, you know." Dean said darkly. "It's not my fault you caught me with my pants down here." Sam glanced at him in bewilderment and Dean, realizing the awkwardness of his metaphor, shook his head hastily and added, "Figuratively, Sammy."

Sasha chuckled and then took to gazing at the book in front of her pensively. After a long while of silent deliberation, she said, "I'd really like it if you could at least tell me a little bit. I'm not entirely skeptical when it comes to ghosts and shit."

Again, Sam and Dean glanced at each other, not entirely sure what to do.

"I don't think the answer is in your brother's eyes," Sasha said with just the smallest hint of teasing in her voice. She leaned forward and gave them a serious stare. "Look, I'm not saying I'm going to go all Nancy Drew here, but I'd like to help. Damon was my friend too." Her eyes met Sam's when she said that and he felt slightly sheepish. Of course Sasha was probably just as upset as he was at Damon's murder. He nodded slowly and then, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard, edged his chair closer to Sasha.

"We've had...experience with stuff like this in the past." Sam said. He glanced again at Dean, who was sitting back in his chair with his arms folded, looking at Sasha thoughtfully.

"Experience?" Sasha asked, arching an eyebrow. "What? Did you get possessed and start puking up pea soup?"

Sam chuckled. "Not exactly. Remember when I told you that I ran away from home because of my family's profession?"

Sasha nodded. "That was like two weeks after I met you."

"Yeah. Well...my Dad and Dean hunt demons and ghosts for a living."

"Like the Ghostbusters?" Sasha seemed to take Sam's announcement remarkably well. Then again, maybe she was just reserving judgment until she got to the asylum and gave the orderlies their names.

"Kind of," said Dean, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, "just not as...scientific. We battle them with their own stuff. Magic and exorcism and guns and shit like that. We've been doing it since Sammy was a baby."

Sasha nodded. "Okay...and you think that these urban legend murders are supernatural?"

Both Sam and Dean nodded.

Sasha bit her lip. Sam was still worried that she thought he and Dean had flown over the cuckoo's nest. He tried meeting Sasha's eyes, willing her to believe that they were telling the truth through eye contact. She was so good at reading body language and he tried to show that he wasn't lying.

_Please believe us_... he thought, wondering why he was even bothering since Sasha wasn't telepathic...as far as he knew, anyway.

After several seconds of silence, Sasha nodded again.

"I believe you," She said.

Sam blinked. "Really?"

Sasha nodded again. "Yeah," she said, sounding surer of herself than before, "I do. I...don't really know why but...it seems to make sense that something at least mildly unnatural is happening here. I mean, the killer would either have to be really really fortunate for circumstances to line up as they have or the victims would have to be really stupid. I can't speak for Michelle Mancini, but since Damon is in Wexler's urban legend seminar, he would probably at least recognize and urban legend scenario."

"And he did check out that book." Dean said, nodding to _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_ .

"Yeah...that still doesn't make sense." Sam said.

Sasha reached forward and picked up the old book, turning to the index card. She examined it carefully and the grinned slightly.

"I remember now." She smiled slightly, her eyes still on the inside cover. "It was something Parker said about Stanley Hall."

"What?" Both Sam and Dean asked sharply.

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Parker was joking around with the other frat boys that Stanley Hall was so famous that Wexler would be teaching it in his seminar and that it was in this book. I saw Damon with this when I went over to the frat house after the radio show one night. He seemed kinda disappointed that Stanley Hall wasn't in here."

"So that rules him out of any suspicious activity." Sam said in relief. "And Brenda checked it out because she was making slides for the class."

Sasha nodded and set the book down.

"So what do you guys figure?" She asked. "Ghosts? Demons? Voodoo dolls?"

"We haven't got a hell of a lot." Dean said, sounding frustrated. "I'm placing my money on ghosts. Revenge or something like that."

Sam sat up straighter in his chair so fast that both Dean and Sasha jumped. How the hell could he have forgotten, seeing as how he'd found out only a half an hour ago?

"I think I might have a lead." He said. Dean and Sasha stared at him intently, waiting for him to go on. He took a deep breath and said, "Natalie knew Michelle Mancini. They were friends in high school."

Dean let out a low breath and Sasha's jaw dropped.

"You're kidding!" Sasha said in complete shock. "How the fuck is she keeping it together?"

"No idea," Sam said, "but it gets better." And he told them exactly all that Natalie had revealed to him and Brenda outside. When Sam got to the part about the car chase, Dean opened _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends _and turned to the table of contents. He opened the book to a particular page and showed it to Sasha and Sam. On the left page was the title _The Gang High Beam Initiation_ and on the opposite pages was a drawing of a young woman in the driver's seat of car, looking in her review mirror at a car speeding behind her, it's light's on full blast.

"Jesus Christ." Sasha said. "That girl's got some serious demons."

"She can't. Not with the amount of salt I've seen her put on her French fries." Sam said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly at the lame joke which was obviously lost on Sasha.

"Anyway," Dean pressed on before Sasha could voice her confusion, "I think this is as good a lead as any. I just wish we knew the name of the kid."

Sam grinned slyly. "I think I know how we can find out."

"How?" Dean asked.

Sam turned to Sasha and saw comprehension dawn on her face.

"Paul?" she said.

Sam nodded.

"Who the hell is that?" Dean asked.

"My roommate." Sam said. "He's a borderline investigative journalist, so he's bound to have some kind of way of dragging up news stories from two years ago."

"And we find out this guy's name...then what?" Sasha asked.

Dean grinned. "Then it's time for a heavy duty séance."

Sam smiled. Things were starting to look up after all. Dean's eyes met his and he smiled warmly. Sam's spirit, among other things, rose as he met his brother's eyes. Oh yeah. This definitely called for some heavy duty victory making out.

"Shit." Sasha muttered, her eyes wide as she looked over Sam's shoulder. Sam and Dean turned in their seats and Sam felt his blood go cold. Three police officers were conversing shortly with the librarian, who was looking around the library with her neck craned. She pointed to the back where they were sitting and the officers moved in their direction. All three of them got to their feet and Sam could feel Dean tensing up beside him, preparing to run.

Sasha shook her head. "Don't. That'll make you look guilty. Just wait til they get here. They might just want to ask some questions."

But Sam knew they wouldn't. Parker had obviously made a convincing argument.

The officers approached them and stopped, blinking in surprise. They'd obviously been expecting a little less co-operation.

"Dean Winchester?" A tall, forty-something officer with a scruffy beard asked.

Dean nodded.

The officers glanced at each other, still mildly awed that things were going so smoothly...for now.

"We need to take you into town to answer some questions." The first officer spoke up.

"What's this about?" Sam asked before he could stop himself.

"He's a suspect in the murders of Michelle Mancini and Damon Brooks."

Sasha and Sam glanced at one another uneasily. Sam wanted to say something, anything to make the officers change their minds, but he knew it would be wasted breath. In all honesty they had perfectly good reason to suspect Dean. He'd shown up after Michelle's murder and was an outsider on campus, so obviously he'd be a prime suspect regardless of any evidence left behind.

The officer to the left of the man who had spoken took a step forward. On closer inspection, Sam saw that she wasn't a police officer, but a member of campus security. A short, stout black woman with a frame of curly brown hair and sharp brown eyes who he'd seen patrolling whenever he pulled all-nighters in the lounge or library.

"We just wanna ask him a couple of questions, hon," She said gently.

Sam nodded.

"Reese..." Sasha said, addressing the woman in an unsure voice.

"It's outta my hands, Sasha," Reese said just as gently as before. "They've got a bunch of reasons to suspect this young man. The best you two can do is let the officers take him down to the station and get everything sorted out. If he's innocent, which I'm sure he is," she glared pointedly at the tall police officer, and he looked away uneasily, "then he'll be outta the station by tomorrow morning."

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean said, putting a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. He was eying the two police officers bracingly, as though trying to size up his chances of making a break for it. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Reese. Something in her plaintive look must have reached Dean somehow, because he relaxed a little more and put his hands out in front of him. "Be careful." He said to Sam as the officers slapped the handcuffs on him.

Sam sat down in the chair he'd recently vacated, and watched the officers lead Dean out of the library. People stopped and stared and whispered shamelessly, pointing at him and looking towards the table at the back of the library. He couldn't lose it, not right now. Dean was innocent and he'd be free soon.

But what if he wasn't? What if something went wrong? What if Parker had managed to convince them of Dean's or even his own guilt? Perhaps the killer was waiting to follow the police car down to the station to get at Dean. As these thoughts flashed through Sam's mind, he felt his breathing become labored. No...they couldn't take Dean away. Not after they'd just so recently gotten back on track. Didn't they understand what that meant?

Before he could stop himself, Sam was on his feet, brushing passed Reese who was talking quietly with Sasha. The two of them stopped and stared as Sam dashed towards the entrance of the library, his heart in his throat. He had to stop them before they got to the car.

The late afternoon sunlight was dipping just above the trees and Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment. Blinking, he turned and was just in time to see the police car pull out of the parking lot.

"No..." he muttered. "No...Dean..." The car was backing up to make the turn out of the parking lot. Sam broke into a run, not really knowing what he was doing. He could hear Sasha and Reese behind him, calling him back, but he didn't care. "DEAN!" He yelled, but it was too late. The car had pulled out of the parking lot and was driving down the road. Sam ran a few more feet to, desperate to catch up, but he knew it was useless. He stopped and stood there in the gathering dusk, breathing heavily.

It was all over now. They were going to keep Dean locked up in that fucking jail for days just because Parker had to go and run is stupid little frat boy mouth. Sam made a mental note to break Parker's nose the next time they crossed paths. He heard the crunch of gravel behind him but did not turn around. Sasha laid a warm, small hand on his shoulder and he turned, feeling for the first time that he was breathing as if he'd run a mile.

"Come on, " Sasha said, nodding towards the quad. Sam looked back at the road, knowing that it was useless to hope for the police car to come back. He nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he followed Sasha. She said nothing as they walked on, ignoring the passing students who were heading to their dorms or wherever they were going. It didn't matter to Sam. All that mattered was that Dean was gone and Sam was alone in this investigation now, without his big brother to help him.

At first he thought that Sasha was leading him back to his dorm, but he soon realized that they were heading to the student lounge. He half expected to see Parker or even Natalie and Brenda there, but none of them were in sight. Not even Paul was there as was usual for him whenever he was busy doing an article. Sasha said nothing but led him to the seats near the fireplace which were surprisingly vacant. She left him for a few minutes and returned with two mugs of coffee.

Sam took a steady gulp of the hot liquid and felt himself calm down. It was just the way he liked it, not too much cream but enough sugar to make it sweet to the taste. He took a deep, steadying breath and looked at Sasha over the top of his mug. He frowned when he saw that she hadn't touched her cup and was instead giving him an appraising, almost curious stare. He immediately got the sensation that he was standing in a bright spotlight and shifted uncomfortable in the normally comfy chair.

"Uh...is something wrong?" He asked.

"What's your relationship with Dean like?" Sasha asked plainly.

Sam blinked and suddenly remembered Sasha's expert body language reading ability. Shit. He hadn't been exactly hiding anything from the moment the cops had walked in all through their walk over here. There was no way in hell that she'd guessed...there couldn't be...could there?

"We're...brothers?" Sam said, purposefully skirting around the actual implications of the question. "I mean, we're pretty close."

"How close is close, Sam?" She didn't sound accusatory. It sounded to Sam as though Sasha had already made up her mind about how close he and Dean were but merely wanted to confirm it. Sam glanced around the lounge. Most of the students, and there was only a handful, were at the bar or sitting at tables around the room, none of them taking the slightest interest in him or Sasha. There was the usual general murmur of conversation and occasional hiss from the coffee machines and the noise from the radio, so the chances of him being overheard were slim. He chanced another glance at Sasha, trying to figure out if telling her was right. She was looking at him with that same appraising expression, but there was no judgment there...yet. He could trust Sasha.

"Okay," Sam began, sitting on the edge of his seat so as to be closer to her, "we're closer than most brothers, alright? Like...Christ, what do you want me to say?"

"Are you guys in love?" Sasha asked, with almost academic briskness.

Sam glanced around the room and felt his ears redden a little before he looked Sasha dead in her eyes and said, "Yes, Sasha. We are. Now go ahead and say it. We're freaks, degenerates. We deserve to be cast out and stoned to death in the public square, alright? Jesus Christ, I don't even know how you figured it out." That was a lie, he knew. But it seemed the appropriate thing to say. Besides, he wanted to get it from her exactly how she'd figured it out in the space of a day.

Sasha shrugged. "I'm a sex therapist Sam. I read people, you know that. Maybe it's psychic or something. We were talking about ghosts and whatever, so maybe I do have my own supernatural gift when it comes to this stuff. But...I can just see it whenever you guys are together. There's...I don't know how to explain it. You glow. It's like your whole entire face just lights up and you can't keep your eyes off of him no matter how hard you try. And tonight...Sam, I know that blood is thicker than water and everything, but the way you reacted when the cops took him...it just seemed more appropriate for a lover if that makes sense." She took a sip of her coffee and then pinned him with a piercing stare. "And as for being a degenerate and all that bullshit...well, I'm not gonna lie Sammy. It's...shocking to say the least but...who the hell am I to judge when people are in love?" She paused and cocked her head to the side. "That _is_ what it is isn't it? It's not just some freaky sexual kink?"

"No," Sam said, his voice weak from Sasha's tirade, "God, no."

They was silence between them for several moments. Sam brought the coffee mug to his lips several times, drinking in such haste that he felt his tongue and throat burn.

Finally Sasha spoke again. "How...how did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Hm?"

"How did you two...you know...how did _it _happen?"

Sam leaned back in his chair and stared into the crackling fire, his eyes glowing from the light. After a moment he sighed, set his coffee mug on the table in front of him and leaned forward again.

"I was fourteen," he began in a low voice, "Dean was eighteen. Our Dad was always out hunting and all my life I was dragged around the country in our car, so I never had a lot of time to get to know people. I don't think Dean did either. Well...he didn't seem to care, or at least show that he did. When he got older he would sneak off and spend the night with some girl he'd managed to charm but neither of us really had much more than each other. Our dad..." Sam took a deep breath, swallowing the anger and hurt he felt when talking about his father. "He was more of a drill sergeant than a father most of the time. And it was especially bad with me. Puberty hit me hard and...well, let's just say I didn't mince words about what I thought of the way we lived."

Sasha nodded, her chin resting on her hand as she looked steadily down at her coffee mug, although Sam could tell she was listening intently.

"Like I said, Dean and I were all each other had. We were always close for brothers and had to share beds a lot because sometimes Dad couldn't afford places with separate rooms or beds for us." He shook his head, remembering those times and, as shitty as it had been, he'd liked sharing a bed with Dean back then. "Anyway, when I was fourteen, our Dad left me and Dean in this little bungalow in Indiana. I remember that summer was really muggy. I'd been going through a bit of a growth spurt the closer my fifteenth birthday got, but I was still shorter than Dean. We went out exploring one afternoon and we were up on this big hill overlooking the bungalow and it started piss pouring rain." Sam smiled softly, remembering that day, how soft and refreshing the rain had felt. "We ran down the hill, slipping in the mud and getting soaked to the skin. When we finally got home we were both dripping wet."

He could see that Sasha was also smiling softly, probably imagining the scene for herself. Sam took another drink of coffee and ran a hand through his hair. Although Sasha had said she wouldn't judge, or something like that, he wasn't sure how she'd take what he had to say next. For him it was more than a memory. It was an experience that had completely altered the course of his life, so sweet at the time and yet it had changed everything between him and Dean.

"We went to our room to change," Sam continued, his voice lower than before as a new cluster of students entered the lounge. "And...I don't know why we did it, Sash, I really don't but we just...we took our wet clothes off and just...lied down on top of the bed we shared together completely naked. I wasn't like we hadn't seen each other naked before or anything but...well, there was something different between us. We just lay there..." His voice drifted off as he recalled the way his eyes had met Dean's and held his gaze for what seemed an eternity. Dean was more experienced, worldlier, and Sam, for all his teenage spunk and attitude was still so innocent and naive. "We...we kissed each other...it was...Jesus, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever felt..." It truly had been. Dean's lips were soft, sweet and warm. Sam hadn't been expecting that back then. To him, Dean was always hard, rough, his hands calloused from all the physical work he did. The memory of that first kiss sent a small shiver up Sam's spine. It had started out chaste, almost shy. And then they'd just let everything go and it had become fiery, desperate, full of need and confirmation that this was real and that there was somebody in the world who gave a damn about them.

"It went on from there," Sam went on, not knowing quite how to word to Sasha how it had felt without coming off as fanciful. "I'd been...I mean, I was fourteen and I'd been..."

"Don't be shy, Sammy," Sasha said in a breathy voice. "I'm a radio sex therapist, remember? There's not a lot you can say to shame or shock me."

Sam chuckled nodded. "Well, I was no stranger to hard on's back then. I mean, I knew about sex and everything but the idea of what it actually felt like...it was beyond anything I was ready for." He remembered how embarrassed he'd felt when he'd become aware of how hard that kiss had made him. He'd turned pink and looked away from Dean, but Dean had forced him to meet his eyes. His hand had taken Sam's and led it to his own throbbing hard on. Sam had gasped upon first touching his brother's length but that was nothing compared to how it had felt when Dean's hand had found its way to Sam's cock. The memory of it was enough cause Sam to emit a shaky breath.

"He never...y'know...penetrated me or anything," Sam went on, his voice distant. "It never went beyond hand jobs or blow jobs or anything like that. Dean made it clear that he wouldn't touch me like that until I was eighteen...But it was great, I mean, I know you probably think we're sick or something, but it just felt so great to be that way with him. We were always careful. We made sure our dad wasn't around, and he never suspected a thing. But it just...God, I wish you could understand how good it felt. We loved each other so damn much. We took care of each other and it felt great..." His voice had risen to an insistent pitch, trying to make her understand, to see that it wasn't wrong or that he hadn't been taken advantage of. It was the opposite of what it should've been. It was nurturing, loving and it freed them both.

Sasha was silent for a long time and in that time, Sam seriously began to believe that he'd lost her, that she'd get to her feet and walk away and take to heckling him with Parker. She sat in the chair with her leg drawn up to her chin which rested on her knee. She wasn't staring at anything in particular but her eyes were very bright.

Finally she looked up at him and smiled warmly.

"I understand, Sammy," she said softly. Relief flooded over Sam, warm and calming. He could tell that Sasha wasn't just saying it either. She really and truly understood. "There's a real difference between incest and love," She went on. "I mean, in technical terms its still incest but you guys seem to really love each other and who am I to judge that?"

"Sash..." Sam's voice was shaking slightly. He took got a hold of himself and said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not judging us," Sam said.

"It's definitely a unique relationship," Sasha said, "but there's love there, Sammy, and that's a good thing. I mean, you guys pretty much lived on the dredges of society anyway, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then it shouldn't matter. Other people don't know what it's like so they don't have a right to judge as far as I'm concerned. I mean, in most cases _it_ is a bad, _bad_ thing, but you guys...well, like I said, there's real, pure love there and there's nothing wrong with that."

Sam smiled and reached a hand over and covered her small hand with his large one. She smiled warmly and him.

"What are we gonna do about him being in jail?" Sam asked.

Sasha bit her lip. "I don't think he'll be there for long," she said. "There's absolutely no evidence to support their theory that he's the killer. All they have to go on is that he's a new face in the area and that since he's been here at least one of the murders has happened. They can't exactly pin him with Michelle Mancini's murder since they arrested that gas station attendant, but even that's a bunch of bullshit."

"He's innocent," Sam agreed, "just like Dean."

"And yet they arrested them both just to make it look like they're doing something." Sasha scowled. "You watch. A news report comes out that says they have a suspect in custody regarding Damon's murder." She sighed heavily and then shook her hair out of her face. "So, what about this ghost?"

"I think it'd be best to do a seance tomorrow," Sam said. "There should be some supplies in the Impala...only Dean probably has the keys on him."

"Wait for tomorrow," Sasha said bracingly. "They're going to keep him in there overnight, I guarantee it. They can't really keep him longer unless concrete evidence turns up."

Sam yawned and stretched. It was only six o clock but he was tired, and he still had to study for a class tomorrow, although he was probably going to spend most of the night researching online to help with the investigation.

"You should get going," Sasha said. "Stay at your dorm tonight. We'll go to the station first thing in the morning if Dean's not released by then."

"But the killer..."

"Paul's in your room. You'll be fine. And don't forget to ask him to look into that boy that Natalie and Michelle killed in that car accident."

Sam nodded, but didn't feel entirely reassured. There was still a chance that Paul could be the killer, but it was a chance he'd have to take. Besides, he had his knife somewhere at the bottom of one of the bags he hadn't completely unpacked in the back of the closet. He'd sleep with it under his pillow just in case.

With another big yawn, Sam got to his feet. Sasha did so as well and Sam, seeing the opportunity pulled her into a tight hug. She squeaked in surprise but then settled into it.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Anytime, kid," Sasha said with a smile. They walked out of the lounge together. Sam insisted that Sasha not walk him to his dorm. It was getting darker and he didn't want her outside by herself. She smiled at him when he said this and hugged him again. He watched her go until she turned the corner towards the media building before heading back to his dorm. Most of the students were inside by now. As Sam walked, he tried to keep his mind positive. Sasha had a point. The police had no real reason to keep Dean in custody, not without hard proof. He'd be out tomorrow, Sam was sure of it. Then they could get down to the task of nabbing this ghost, if that's what it was.

Paul wasn't in the dorm when Sam finally got there. He shook his head, his admiration for Paul's dedication now mingled with slight suspicion. It sucked to suspect his friends, but he wasn't taking any chances. The bag that his knife had been in was in the closet, on his side and he had to shift through some of the shirts and sweaters until he'd cleared enough space to see that back.

Sam just about screamed. The killer was standing in the closet, the dark green fur lined parka perfectly still against the wall. He stumbled back towards the bed, prepared to grab some sort of weapon, but then stopped and looked harder. It wasn't the killer...but it was the same parka. In the closet he shared with Paul...did that mean that Paul was the killer? Clenching his jaw and ignoring the parka, Sam found his mostly empty bag and pulled out the knife Dean had given him years ago. Angrily, Sam slammed the closet door shut and then flopped down on his bed, suddenly feeling more exhausted. He needed to sleep. He pictured that first time with Dean as he closed his eyes and a smile crossed his lips. With that memory in his mind, Sam dozed off into a gentle sleep.

He was awoken several hours later by a noise he couldn't quite place. The dorm room was dark and a glance at his alarm clock told Sam that it was after midnight. Had he really been asleep that long? He lay there in the darkness, listening hard. For a moment, he thought he'd almost imagined the noise, but then it came again. A strange scratching noise coming from somewhere near the door. Sam sat up in bed and gripped his knife tight under the pillow. He glanced at the closet for a moment, wondering about the parka but then shook his head. He'd have heard someone enter the room. He glanced at Paul's bed and saw that it was empty. Great.

The noise came again, louder and longer than before. There was no doubt about it. It was a scratching noise and it was coming from outside the door. Something or someone was scratching to be let in. Sam felt cold all over but determined to open the door and see what was making the noise. He had just set a foot out of bed when a strange feeling came over him, a sort of sudden languidness that caused him to relax, although the fear was still there, heightened almost.

_Think,_ he mentally screamed_, just open the door and...no, no I can't. What if it's the killer! Oh God, I don't wanna be alone here...I need to turn on the fucking light! _But he couldn't bring himself to do it, to just reach over and turn the lamp on. He was seized by an all consuming, paralyzing fear that had come out of nowhere.

A new noise was added to the cacophony of scratches. A gurgling noise that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up. He stared, wide eyed at the door, willing himself to get up and open it, but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. Something was keeping him rooted to the spot in numbing fear. A fear that only increased when he heard the door knob rattle and realized that whatever it was, it was coming into the room. Letting out a small moan of fright, Sam toppled off the bed and crawled along the floor to the closet, throwing it open and burying himself in the back behind the clothes, closing the door behind him. He could see the the parka hanging up on the clothes rod and half fancied that it was really the killer and not just a harmless article of clothing.

From outside, he heard the door open and the gurgling noise become louder. It was in the room with him. Sam's breathing nearly stopped and he looked away from the door, hiding his face against the wall. There was a noise as though something was dragging itself along the floor and the gurgling noise was getting closer to the closet. Sam closed his eyes and pictured Dean in his mind, trying hard not to think about what was outside, yet still trying to tell himself that he needed to see it, that he was a hunter and his job was to protect.

Something rapped softly against the closet and Sam felt the whole world stop for several mind numbing seconds. Then, the gurgling stopped and something slid against the outside of the closet. He let out a deep breath. Whatever it was, it was gone, or at least it had given up. Sam closed his eyes and before he could do anything more, he fell asleep in the closet.

He awoke hours later, his face against the wall. Blinking, he stretched his shoulders and tried to figure out just why the hell he was in the closet. Then, as the events of last night came flooding back, Sam got to his feet, stooping in the cramped space. He pushed the closet door open, but found that something heavy was pressed against the outside. He frowned and gave a tremendous push, causing whatever was out there to tumble backwards as the door opened. For several seconds Sam simply stared at it, feeling his heart stop and his stomach drop out from below him.

Natalie was lying the floor of the dorm room, wearing the same clothes she'd had on yesterday. She was on her back and her eyes were wide and staring up at Sam, who felt himself back into the closet, staring in horror at the body in front of him. Across Natalie's throat was a large, violent slash. There was blood everywhere, trailing down the front of her clothes and, as Sam dared to look around, he saw a trail of blood leading from his door to the closet. He looked down at her nails and saw that they were scratched to the quick and bloodied. She'd been trying to get in last night to get his help.

And, as Sam realized just what the murder was, his eyes traveled to the wall over his bed. He'd been expecting it, he'd seen it in that damn urban legend book yesterday, but that didn't stop it from being horrifying.

Written on the wall in Natalie's blood was the phrase, "_Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light_?" That was all it took to get Sam screaming.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam really didn't know what he was running from or if he was running to anybody in particular. He'd barely had time to process that grisly message before he took off from his dorm room, his heart racing a mile a minute and his mind stuck on the image of Natalie's body lying under those bloody words. She'd been trying to get in the whole time and he had just cowered in the darkness.

He could've saved her, just like he could have saved Damon if he'd only just had enough common sense and courage to open the damn door of the closet. Something had seized hold of him last night, something that had made him react in a way completely unlike him. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when Damon had been murdered. Lethargy had just sunk in, as though he was being coerced to just go along with things.

Students stared at him as he ran passed them, confusion on their faces. He collided with the hall doors, not looking back, not wanting to see the pool of blood that would most likely have formed outside the dormitory door. He could dimly hear those who were closest to his dorm room begin to register what they were seeing. He hadn't shut the door behind him, so they'd all have a clear look at Natalie's corpse. People started screaming and yelling for someone to alert campus security.

But still Sam didn't look back. His instinct was telling him to find someone, someone who had always been there for him when things like this had happened. He rounded the corner to take the stairs and run smack into Reese, who stumbled back, blinking up at him in confusion.

"Damn, kid," she said reproachfully. "I know I'm a short little shit, but...hey, what's wrong?" She peered at Sam with worry. Sam stood there, breathing heavily, and only then did he realize how stupid he must look, bolting from the crime scene like a frightened kid.

"I need my brother..." He knew he wasn't making sense. Reese just didn't get it. Nobody would, with the exception of maybe Sasha. Nobody understood that Dean always made it right. Sam needed to get to Dean, had too.

"I don't know if he's out yet honey," Reese said, still gazing up at him curiously. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when the doors behind them burst open and several students poured through, all of them screaming and babbling incoherently.

"Reese!" A blonde girl said, practically latching onto the security officer, "there's a dead girl in that room!"

"What?" Reese said, arching an eyebrow. Sam didn't know if she hadn't understand or if she just plain couldn't hear. The students around were making such a clamor that even he had difficulty hearing. For a moment, Reese gazed at the crowd of terrified students and then pulled her gun out of her holster, looking grim.

"Stay here, all of you," she instructed, giving them all a dark look. She turned to Sam, who was still breathing heavily and then said, "Sam? I think you should come with me."

Go back there? To that room? No, he couldn't. Not without Dean. Sam shook his head violently. He couldn't form coherent words at the moment. Even if he could, they'd probably come out jumbled and he'd probably be branded a nutcase.

"Sam," Reese said evenly, "please just come with me." She was insistent now, and Sam gave her a curious look. Reese's eyes darted to the other students and Sam looked around and realized that all those assembled were all standing back from him, as though afraid he'd snap at any moment. He took another calming breath and then nodded, following Reese through the hall doors.

"What the hell happened?" She asked him as they walked down the corridor, ignoring the looks of the other students. Sam said nothing. He didn't want to relive it, not right now. And he had a feeling that once Reese saw the crime scene, she'd understand that another urban legend murder had taken place. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be with Dean.

Reese glanced at him once or twice and then shook her head at his silence.

There were a few people gathered outside Sam's dorm room. Reese shooed them away with a wave of her gun. Sam saw her glance at the floor and noticed her eyes widen. Looking down he saw a pool of blood on the carpeted floor of the hall. His eyes traveled from the floor to the door and he saw, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, bloody handprints streaked up and down the outside and on the doorknob.

"Oh Jesus," Reese breathed. She took a deep breath and then stepped into the dorm room, motioning Sam to follow, but he didn't. Only a second after Reese looked around the door she let out an audible gasp and stepped back, staring into the room beyond in wide eyed horror. Sam saw her eyes move to the wall, to that horrible message. Reese's gun fell limply from her hand and she looked away from the scene, her eyes closed tight.

"Somebody call the police," she said, retrieving her gun from the floor. Nobody moved. Reese glanced around at the surrounding students and said snappishly, "That wasn't a suggestion." The other students scattered, heading for their dorm rooms. Reese shook her head and muttered something inaudible about the students before turning back to Sam, securing her gun in its holster. "You need to come with me, Sam."

Sam took a step back and Reese frowned. "I don't think you did it sugar. But I need the full story and it'll probably be better for you if you get it out before the boys in blue show up."

_I just want Dean to be here,_ Sam thought wearily. But he knew that Reese was trying to help and she did make a good point. Taking a deep breath, Sam began telling Reese what had happened last night after he'd woken up from sleeping. Throughout his story, Reese's expression remained dark and she bit her lip once or twice.

When he got to the part about hearing the door open, Sam's voice began to shake slightly. Why the hell couldn't he have just turned the light on like a normal person?

_Because it wouldn't let me,_ he thought. _Whatever is making this happen, it doesn't want anybody ruining the legend. That's why Michelle didn't check the backseat. That's why I didn't get out of the car to help Damon. It won't let anybody._

When he was finished telling Reese his story, Sam leaned back against the wall. None of the other students had left their dorm rooms in the short time it had taken for him to explain everything to Reese who, to her credit, didn't look at Sam like he was insane or a coward. She looked concerned. Like a mother to a child who had gotten hurt. It surprised Sam a little.

"The cops are gonna have a field day with this," Reese sighed, glancing down the hall as the doors burst open and four police officers walked down the hallway. One of them was the one who had been present at Dean's arrest the previous night. Sam clenched his jaw grimly. He knew what this probably looked like.

"Get him the hell out of here," the tall officer barked at Reese, who arched her eyebrows at him.

"Now hold on there just a minute," Reese said. "Where's the other one?"

"What?" The officer stopped just short of entering the dorm room. Inside Sam heard one of the other officers let out a curse.

"Where is this young man's brother?" Despite being shorter than the other officer, Reese met his gaze levelly and with a mulish expression.

"He's still at the station."

"Well he's obviously not the killer," Reese said. "Unless he can teleport." The officer's face turned red, reminding Sam of the way his father used to flush just before he launched into a furious shouting tirade. But Reese cut the man off. "You know as well as I do that Sam's brother hasn't been involved with these killings. And this clinches it. There was no way he could've been here to murder that poor girl."

"How the hell do we know that that's not what he wanted?" The officer demanded furiously, glancing at Sam. "Maybe he offed that girl just to spring his brother."

"That's a stretch," Reese said.

The officer glared at Reese and then said savagely, "Maybe if you'd been doing your job last night this wouldn't have happened!" Reese's eyes narrowed and she was about to launch into a verbal assault against the man, but Sam held up his hand to stop her.

"It's okay Reese," Sam said, looking at the officer. "I get it. They can't find the real killer so they're trying to make it look like they're doing a good job by grasping at whatever lead they can get."

The officer's face turned from red to purple as he rounded on Sam. "You little shit," he hissed. "I oughta lock you up with your brother and -"

"That's not going to happen," Reese said angrily. "Not until forensics gets in here and does their thing." She glanced at Sam, winked once at him and then went on, "There's been no evidence so far to suggest that Mr. Winchester or his brother have been involved with any of this. So I think that maybe you should stop with the unfounded accusations and actually do _your _job instead of trying to make it look like you are." She smirked as the blood drained from the man's face. Then she turned on her heel and said, "C'mon Sam. Let's go get you something to drink and talk this over."

Without looking back, Sam followed her. "Thanks," he said quietly as they reached the stairs. The other students had left by this point.

"No problem hon," Reese said with a smile. Then her expression turned dark and she added, "This is getting out of hand. Three god damned urban legend murders in less than a week."

"Do you think they'll shut down the school?" Sam asked her.

"They're gonna have too now," Reese said. "After poor Miss Simon..." Reese went quiet and her eyes became bright. Sam too felt the weight of Natalie's death settle in fully now. Although they hadn't been as close as the couple they'd pretended to be, he'd still liked Natalie. She hadn't deserved to die that way. Nobody did.

Well...maybe Parker.

Reese didn't speak again until they were outside. Already those students who had woken up early enough were milling about and glancing nervously at the building he and Reese had just exited.

"The first two deaths weren't on campus," Reese said softly, picking up her train of thought from where she'd left off. "That's why they haven't closed the school down yet. That Mancini girl was killed on the highway and Damon Brooks...well, it was close enough to campus but still far away enough that the school board felt they could keep the school open."

"Why?" Sam asked as they walked on.

"Money," Reese said grimly. "And the legal aspect isn't too thrilling either. They close the school they're gonna have students wanting reimbursements and the school would lose money. Stanford hasn't seen this kind of thing since -"

"Since the Stanley Hall Massacre..." Sam said, a chilling thought suddenly creeping up on him. Could it be possible that someone or something was trying to commemorate the anniversary of the massacre? He turned to Reese, who suddenly looked wary about broaching the subject. "Someone survived that, right?"

Reese nodded mechanically, as though stealing herself to make the movement.

"Do you think that -"

"Hon," Reese said, "I don't wanna go into it. Not with anybody and especially not you. You've been close to two of these murders now and you can color me surprised that you haven't gone over the cuckoo's nest by now. So just drop it and maybe talk to someone."

"I'd love to," Sam said thought gritted teeth, "but the person I wanna talk to is kind of in jail at the moment."

"He'll be out by this afternoon," Reese said. "Whatever Officer Jackass thinks of you and your brother won't hold a candle to the concrete evidence once it's landed."

"Do you think that the survivor of Stanley Hall -"

"Sam," Reese said sharply, "don't even start. Y'hear me? I want you to zip it, lock it and put it in your pocket. It's gonna be bad enough with all the cops around here today. Just...sit tight until your brother gets out." Reese looked out towards the faculty building, her expression grim. "I need to get going," she said. "You sure you're alright?"

"Peachy," Sam said, running a hand over his face and shivering. He'd only just become aware of how chilly it was out here this morning and he was only wearing the t-shirt and sweats he'd worn to bed last night. The sky was overcast and he could smell oncoming rain. Reese gave him one last look before nodding and heading off across the green.

For several moments he simply stood there, staring after Reese, his mind growing increasingly numb. The breeze picked up, chill and biting. Sam shivered once more and then turned away, closing his eyes as everything began to catch up to him. Damon and Natalie's murder, Dean's return and subsequent arrest...everything. It didn't so much as crash over him as seep slowly down like thick molasses over his body. One thing led to the other and soon he was running through the grounds, dodging students and trying to escape the weight. He was breathing heavily, tears threatening to spill if only he had the energy to cry anymore. He had no idea where he was running again, but he just wanted to run. Leave Stanford and everything and find some corner of the world where strange shit didn't follow him around.

Damon was dead...Natalie was dead and Dean was in jail...he was alone. He didn't even know where Brenda, Paul and Sasha were, nor did he want to know. He didn't want to be around them, not if meant that they were going to end up the same as everybody else. Dead or gone...he was a curse to everything he touched. Hell, he'd pretty much killed his mother when he was just six months old...or so his father seemed to believe.

He ran and ran and ran until his legs began to give out somewhere near the south end of the campus where the sports complexes were. There was nobody here, not even the janitor. Sam stopped, panting and feeling completely alone and miserable and afraid and just plain tired. Tired of everything.

There was a bench outside of the swimming pool. Sam fell onto it, trying to catch his breath and trying hard not to dwell too much on his bitter thoughts. He'd lost Dean once only to have him come back and then disappear just as quickly. What if Reese was wrong? What if Dean was pinned with the murders somehow and it stuck?

"FUCK!" Sam yelled at the top of his lungs so that the echo reverberated around the tight spaces between the buildings at this end of the campus.

_Calm down,_ he told himself mentally, _you can do this you just need to relax. You don't need Dean there all the time..._But that was a lie. It had been easier when he'd first come to Stanford to forget about Dean but that was because of his friends and Damon, but they were all dropping like flies...and Dean was so close to him now. They'd worked things out and Sam didn't want to lose that again.

Besides, he knew that no matter how hard he tried to convince himself to the contrary, he knew he needed Dean just as much as Dean needed him. He couldn't imagine how Dean probably felt now, knowing that Sam was out here in the killer's sight while he sat in jail unable to do anything. Unable to protect Sam. That was all Dean had ever wanted to do. All he knew how to do when it came down to it.

Sam got to his feet, a dead weight inside him. Slowly he headed back towards the main area of campus, a numb resolution setting in. It was pathetic for him to be wanting Dean back so badly, but he couldn't help it. Dean was all he really had left, with the exception of what remained of his friends, but even they didn't come close to what he had with Dean. They never would. And as things stood right now, Dean was probably on the list of people the killer would take out until they finally had Sam exactly where they wanted him.

Alone.

Natalie's death was announced that morning to a somber and stunned auditorium. The dean said that they were closing the school effective immediately and that all students were to be gone before the weekend. They would be reimbursed and once the investigation was over would be allowed back to Stanford if they wanted to return, tuition free.

It meant nothing to Sam. He sat alone in the back row, still in his t-shirt and sweat pants. He'd wandered back to his dorm building only to find it completely taped off with police going in and out. He'd left all his stuff in there, including anything he could've used to conduct the séance. That had been has plan after leaving the sports complex. Try and continue the investigation as best he could without Dean for the time being.

Sam didn't see Brenda as he filed out of the auditorium with the rest of the somber student body. It felt like being in a funeral procession. He'd seen Sasha once or twice during the brief assembly, but he wasn't in any mood to talk at the moment.

But somebody had other plans. He decided to head to the library and bury himself in the back for the afternoon when somebody called his name.

"Sam!" It was Paul, looking high strung and nervous. "Jesus in a racecar, how the hell are you still functioning?"

"If someone asks me that one more time..." Sam began wearily.

Paul looked around nervously as they exited the building with the other students. "I'm sorry I wasn't there last night," Paul added. "I was busy getting a lead and I lost track of time..."

"You didn't come in at all." Sam said flatly, walking off. Paul blinked and hurried after him, his black jacket flapping in the breeze.

"Yeah," Paul said, looking guilty. "Look, I really need to talk you. It's important." Sam glanced at the insistent look on Paul's face and shrugged. There was really nothing to say anymore. The school was closing and hopefully the murders would stop with it.

"You've got ten minutes," Sam said. Paul nodded and then glanced around. Most of the students were heading to their dorm rooms to most likely pack their things.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" Paul asked. Sam arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. Paul took off ahead of Sam, heading for somewhere near the science building. It was an unlikely place to go, but that was probably why Paul had chosen it. There was less chance of them being overheard. There was a bench beside the building, much like the one Sam had sat down on near the sports complex, but Paul didn't sit on it. Once more he looked around nervously and then said, "I saw Natalie last night."

"When?" Sam asked.

"Around seven. She came looking for me earlier but I had class so I told her to come and meet me at the newspaper office." Paul was speaking quickly, as though worried he would chicken out of what he had to tell Sam and wanted to get it over with. "She was really upset about something and at first I thought it was about Damon but then -"

"Just get to the point," Sam said wearily.

"Right," Paul said without skipping a beat. He took a deep breath and then said with the air of someone revealing an incredible secret, "Natalie was friends with Michelle Mancini."

"Yeah?" Sam said. "She told me and Brenda after the assembly yesterday."

Paul's face fell. "Oh...well...okay then..."

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No!" Paul said, suddenly energetic again. "First we got started on the subject of these recent murders-Jesus it feels so weird talking about it now-but then she noticed my article about Stanley Hall and that got us started on the massacre."

"What about it?" Sam asked.

"Remember how I told you about the one survivor? Max Wilier Well?"

Sam nodded.

"Well we've met him," Paul said and half smiled at the look of confusion on Sam's face.

"He's not the creepy janitor is he?" Sam asked. "'Cause if he is, then that's just too damn cliché for me."

"Not the janitor Sam," Paul said. "Think. Who do we know who has a fair grasp and knowledge of urban legends? Someone who would've been in college twenty five years ago..."

Sam frowned, feeling a little frustrated that Paul was leading him on like this. But then it clicked. He'd seen him talking to the police during the assembly after Damon's death...

"Wexler," Sam said quietly. "Jesus, Paul. How the hell did you figure that out?"

"It was just a hunch at first," Paul said. "At first I thought like you. That it was the creepy janitor. I mean how often is that the case with shit like this? So I looked into the faculty and did the math. Max was twenty six when the murders took place so I knew to look for people in their early fifties. I got about that far when Natalie showed up. She was the one who suggested Wexler. And if that isn't enough for you," Paul dug around his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of paper which he unfolded and handed to Sam.

In large black writing was the name Max Wilier Well written in all caps. Either Paul or Natalie had drawn lines from certain letters to various spots beneath the name so that each letter, when re-arranged formed William Wexler.

"It's a fucking anagram," Sam said in disbelief. "That's really original."

"And get this," Paul went on, taking the paper back from Sam and stowing it in his pocket, "When Wexler was Max, his best classes were folklore and New Age philosophy."

"New Age..." Sam's eyes widened as he realized that with this information, Wexler...or Max, whoever the hell he was would have probably gotten onto the idea of casting spells of some kind. "But why now?" Sam asked. "If Wexler is behind this, why hasn't there been a massacre like this every year? And why urban legends?"

"He's probably snapped now that it's the twenty-fifth anniversary," Paul said. "It always holds significance with people. And urban legends...that's a no-brainer. He teaches about urban legends, one of his best classes dealt with urban legends and he practically is an urban legend on campus. I mean the Stanley Hall massacre is kind of a thing at colleges in this part of the state."

Sam shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around the small little Wexler being a serial killer. Sure the guy had his creepy moments, mostly one per day on average, but he didn't seem the type. Then again, anybody could be a killer with a little magic.

"Why did Natalie come to the dorm last night?" Sam asked.

Paul looked down at his shoes, his expression suddenly morose. "She...I told her to go get you...I figured we could use the help, maybe do some digging around Wexler's office together...I didn't...Christ I had no idea she would..." He looked away and Sam put a comforting hand on Paul's arm.

"It's not your fault," Sam said softly. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wexler probably waited for the first person who was going to the dorm."

"But why our dorm?" Paul asked weakly. "You were the only person there. And you were out there with Damon -"

"Jesus, how many people know about that?" Sam said with a wry smile. Paul shrugged.

"The point is," Paul said, "I think Wexler's taken some kind of interest in you Sam. He wants you to feel the same way he felt all those years ago. He was the last one alive, only this time he's going to make sure that there aren't any survivors."

"How many people died that night?" Sam asked.

"Eight," Paul said. "I know people like to say the killer went through the entire place in terms of body count, but that's a crock and a half. Stanley Hall was the smallest dorm on campus and didn't house more than ten people. Wexler would've been the ninth but the cops gunned the bastard down before he got to Wexler."

"Who did it?"

"Some cracked psych professor," Paul said. "Apparently he'd gotten really drunk one night and pissed all over the side of Stanley Hall. He got reported and lost his job so he decided to take revenge."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "What do we do now?"

Paul grimaced. "I don't know. The school's closing, isn't it? Maybe Wexler - Max-whatever his name is will give up."

"Or maybe he'll take as many people out before tomorrow as he possibly can." Sam looked around and wished that Dean was here, or even Sasha. At least they'd stand a chance of digging into whatever knowledge of magic Wexler had. Paul was too no-nonsense and straightforward to believe in the world of the supernatural, and Sam was too tired to try and convince him. But if Wexler was responsible...maybe he could check out Stanley Hall and perform some sort of séance there.

After all, it wasn't entirely impossible that Wexler could be using the spirits of his dead dorm-mates to do his dirty work. The killer was too bulky to be Wexler, not to mention taller and stronger. Brenda was even taller than Wexler by a couple of inches. But when magic was involved...well, there was nothing a man couldn't do.

"I'm gonna go...check something out," Sam said vaguely. If he brought Paul with him to Stanley Hall it would probably involve some awkward explaining.

"Hey," Paul said, putting a hand on Sam's arm as he brushed by. Sam stopped and looked Paul in the eye. The other boy looked worried, but also wary. "I know you're probably sick to death of hearing it by now but...are you sure you're completely okay?"

"No Paul," Sam said. "I'm not. But I think I'll be alright for now." He grinned softly and said, "Thanks for asking though."

Paul grinned back. "Anytime man. Just be careful alright? And if Wexler tries getting you alone-"

"Scream for an adult," Sam said with a laugh. Paul chuckled and waved as Sam headed off away from the science building. He was grateful that Paul was still around. He might be ambitious, but he wasn't entirely unfeeling. Sam wondered just how close Paul and Natalie might have become if Wexler hadn't struck when he had. It served to make him angry and that allowed him to forget about Dean momentarily. If he could get something, anything against Wexler before the school closed then he might be able to prevent more murders.

The quad was deserted when Sam reached it. It was eerie. The place was usually buzzing with students and the cool breeze and murky skies were enough to make Sam feel like he was on the set of a Hammer Horror film. Which in a way he was, albeit a real life one.

Stanley Hall was on the outskirts of the dorm houses. The silence was oppressive and he wished that he'd have had the chance to go back to his own dorm room and change, but a glance in that direction showed him that the police tape was still up around the entrance to the building. He'd have to contend with the cold for now.

He was at Stanley Hall in five minutes. There were no other buildings near it. It was three stories and looked just like something straight out of a Vincent Price movie. The windows were boarded up; as was the front door and Sam shuddered involuntarily as he gazed at it. He really didn't want to be in there alone.

_I've gotta do something_, he thought bracingly, which was true enough. The idea of just doing nothing was too much for him. Dean wouldn't want him to wait around and mope. Dean would tell him to keep going and get to the bottom of things. Squaring his shoulders, Sam headed towards Stanley Hall, his jaw set determinedly.

There was a large ash tree at the front of the building. It was really the only thing about Stanley Hall that Sam felt was really alive, although it looked completely out of place. As he walked towards the front door, Sam glanced at the tree and felt a strange prickle of unease. The trunk was broad and tall, big enough to hide a fully grown man on the other side.

_Why did I have to think that?_ Sam thought. He tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid and that there was nothing here, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something on the other side.

Sam shook his head and walked quickly towards the tree. For a moment he stood, staring at the trunk in front of him. Then, after taking a deep breath, Sam pivoted and looked around the trunk.

There was nobody there. He chuckled and shook his head, mentally kicking himself for being so paranoid.

A firm hand clamped down over his mouth and someone pulled him backwards and whispered in his ear in a low voice, "I've been waiting for you..."


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's heartbeat stopped for half a second before he realized who it was who had seized him. He smiled behind his assailant's hand which was still clamped over his mouth and leaned back into the broad chest of the man. He recognized the scent now that he was standing closer.

"Jerk," Sam said in a muffled voice. Dean spun him around to face him. He looked tired, but seemed to be perfectly fine. He cracked a grin at Sam and said, "Bitch," before pulling him into a tight hug. He didn't care that they were out in broad daylight in the campus grounds. Nobody was outside as far as Sam could see and he was so far from giving a shit about what people would think anyway.

"Miss me?" Dean whispered with a soft smile.

"Do you even have to ask?" Sam replied. Grudgingly, he let go of his brother and stood back to get a better look. He knew Dean had only been in the jail cell overnight and it wasn't as though he had been expecting him to suddenly drop twenty pounds and grow a beard. Dean looked tired, his eyes dark and slightly red. Sam realized that, due to his worry over the murders and Sam's safety, Dean probably needed sleep badly and a night in jail probably hadn't helped.

"What're you doing over here?" Dean asked, nodding in the direction of Stanley Hall. "This doesn't exactly look like the kinda place you'd wanna be alone…especially now."

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice," Sam said. "Everyone's leaving and most of my friends are dropping like flies. And you were…well, I kinda was under the impression that you were being prison raped so…"

Dean chuckled softly. "It's kind of impossible for that to happen when there's only one other person in the entire prison." Then becoming serious he added, "Why's everyone leaving?"

"There was another murder," Sam said quietly, not meeting Dean's eyes. "It happened last night…in my dorm room actually."

"WHAT!?" Dean yelled so loudly that several birds went flying out of the tree he'd been hiding behind, twittering furiously. "Please tell me that you weren't in there Sam."

"Well, I'd love to tell you that," Sam went on bracingly, "but that would be a lie and I'm trying to be a little more open with people."

"So that's why they let me out," Dean said, shaking his head and grinning ruefully. "Who was it?" He added.

"Natalie," Sam said with a heavy sigh. "It…it was that one urban legend…you know, the one about the girl who doesn't turn on the light so she doesn't know that her roommate is being murdered until she wakes up the next day and finds her dead."

"Jesus Christ, Sammy!" Dean cried. "Are you alright?"

"I don't think so," Sam answered slowly. "I mean…I'm trying real hard to not concentrate on everything too much. If I do, I feel myself start to lose it and that…that's bad right now." He looked Dean straight in the eye and saw to his relief that his brother didn't have the same simpering concern that most other people had. "We've got a job to do," Sam went on determinedly. "I'll have time to think about things later. I wanna stop this son of a bitch before he gets anybody else I care about."

Dean was silent for a moment, looking off at the campus buildings in the distance. He turned to Sam and smiled and said, "Damn, Sammy…and I thought I was supposed to be the stoic strong one."

Sam rolled his eyes but grinned. "Let's get outta here," he said, glancing back at Stanley Hall. "As Scooby Doo as this sounds, this place give me the creeps."

"I thought you were gonna go all Nancy Drew and break in," Dean said, also looking back at the derelict building and frowning.

"I was," Sam replied with a chuckle, "until you jumped me." Dean laughed but said nothing and the two of them turned and began to walk back towards the main area of the campus. It was still strangely silent, with the exception of the leaves rustling in the chill breeze. Sam could just imagine all the other students packing their belongings and waiting in their dorm rooms until they were absolutely sure they had to leave. Nobody would want to risk running into the killer. In a way, it made him glad. He and Dean could be alone together and after what Sam had been through in the past few days, all he really wanted right now was some quiet time.

"Sammy," Dean said softly after they'd been walking for only a few minutes, "you're shivering." Sam stopped walking and realized that Dean was right. He hadn't been allowed to go back to his dorm due to the investigation, so he was still wearing only the thin t-shirt and sweat pants he used for pajamas. He'd been lucky to have at least gotten his shoes out from the crime scene.

"I didn't have a chance to get anything warmer," he told Dean in an offhand voice. "My dorm is kind of being used at the moment by the cast of CSI."

"That's bullshit," Dean muttered angrily. "C'mon." He took off at a brisk pace, and Sam had to jog slightly to catch up to him.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer and, despite the situation, smiling at Dean's forwardness.

"Getting your stuff back," Dean answered. "These fucking cops are so damn incompetent. It doesn't take that long to process a small crime scene, so I'm sure they won't mind giving you your things back. And if they are," Dean smiled to himself, "we'll just have to be a little…persuasive."

"You've already gone to jail once," Sam said, "I'd rather it didn't happen again." They were back on the quad by this point, which was just as deserted as it had been when Sam had run into Paul after the early morning assembly.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's not the worst prison I've been too," he said with an impish grin. Sam knew that Dean was joking. To his knowledge, Dean had never landed himself in jail up until yesterday evening.

"That reminds me," Dean added as they mounted the steps to Sam's dorm building, "the other guy that was in the jail with me-"

"He didn't molest you did he?" Sam asked with a grimace. Dean laughed as they entered the quiet hallway and headed towards the staircase to Sam's floor.

"I don't think he was taken by my kissable lips and boyish good looks," Dean said, talking quietly. The whole building was just as quiet as the campus grounds had been and the halls were just as devoid of students. The whole place had the atmosphere of a funeral home and it made Sam shudder inwardly, thinking about what lay on the floor of his room.

"This guy was pretty drunk," Dean went on, "but he was an alright guy. I told him what I was in there for, and we got to talking about urban legends and the paranormal and shit like that. Just before they released me, he told me to go and see some woman named Tamara Fawkes who lives in Redding."

"Who's she?" Sam asked as they reached the hall leading to Sam's room. Dean didn't answer. He stopped and held out his hand for silence, so Sam obliged, halting in his tracks and gazing at the door of his dorm room. There was still yellow crime scene tape outside the door, which was closed at the moment. Sam could still make out the bloody finger marks on the wood and he had to look away to stop the lump that had risen in his throat.

"Do you think they'd mind if we just went in quickly?" Sam asked.

"They'd mind a lot," Dean said with a grimace. "If the police tape is still around the door, then that means that crime scene is still open. But there's nobody here, so they must've left a while ago." Dean glanced down the hall and then pulled his hand inside the sleeve of his jacket. Gingerly, he ducked under the police tape and had just reached out to open the door with his covered hand when the double doors at the end of the hall burst open, causing both of them to jump.

Sam whirled around and saw to his immense relief that it was just Reese. She was walking briskly down the hall towards them and the look on her face told Sam that she wasn't in a good mood at the moment.

"I can explain!" Dean began, ducking back from under the police tape, but Reese held up a hand.

"Calm down, honey." She said. "It's not you two I'm pissed at right now, although coming back here and trying to break into an open crime scene doesn't exactly look good on either of you at the moment."

"I just wanted to get my clothes," Sam said in a small voice.

"I know, Sam, but you've gotta look at this from the point of view of the police. Your brother goes to prison as a murder suspect, Natalie is killed in your dorm room on the very same night and now you're both snooping around here like the god damn kids from Scooby Doo." Sam and Dean glanced at one another, both feeling suddenly very foolish. Of course they could see Reese's point, and Sam mentally kicked himself for not being more concerned over what it would look like to a bystander.

"They still think I killed Natalie to spring Dean, don't they?" Sam asked wearily.

"Yep," Reese said bluntly. "Though they don't got a reason to anymore. They finished processing this crime scene about fifteen minutes after the assembly was over and from what I heard the preliminary lab results just came in."

"What did they say?" Dean asked.

Reese bit her lip and glanced around the hall. She gave both Sam and Dean a square look before saying, in a low voice, "Look, I know this is really personal for you right now, but I really don't like the idea of the two of you playing detective." She took a deep breath and then continued, her eyes blazing, "But the fucking police force in this jurisdiction have their heads so far up their asses that they're hair's turned brown, so I might as well tell someone who has some common sense." Reese glanced at the door, shook her head and then went on, "They couldn't find anything."

"What?" Both Sam and Dean said at the same time, their faces the very picture of disbelief.

Reese nodded. "All they got was what was already obvious. Natalie's throat was slashed and…and she took a while to die. The writing on the wall was in Natalie's blood, but the crime lab didn't find any trace pointing to the culprit. But even they could tell that it was done from the outside, so there's no way it was Sam."

"And they're still blaming him for it?" Dean asked angrily.

"They need someone to pin something on," Reese said bitterly. "To make it look like they're doing their jobs. Just like they did with taking you in, honey," She added, looking at Dean.

"It makes people feel better if they think the police are doing something," Sam said, shaking his head. "It's gonna be a hell of a lot harder for them to put the blame on someone when everybody's gone."

"Which is why they're jumping to conclusions," Reese finished. "My advice to you boys is to just do what all the other students are doing and leave. Not only is it not safe if the killer really is targeting Sam, but if the cops think he's at least involved in one of the murders, the whole student body will be screaming for him to be lynched."

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe the stupidity of some people sometimes. Reese had said the evidence was all right in front of them that it wasn't Sam, and yet the cops were merely making him the scapegoat to make it look like they were actually doing what they were supposed to do. Dean put a comforting hand on his shoulder and Sam smiled softly. At least his brother was back with him. He wasn't alone in this anymore.

"It's not all bad news," Reese said. "After they finished processing the scene, I managed to get your stuff out."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Sam asked in surprised relief.

"Your friend Mr. Gardener," Reese said with a smile. "He came back here to get his things so I asked him to sneak your stuff out and he went along with it."

"You're a lifesaver," Sam said gratefully.

"I'll only be that if you two do what I say," Reese said dourly. "I really don't wanna see anything happen to either of you, so please just get away from the campus at least. It'll give everyone a little more breathing room."

Sam nodded.

"We were just going to do that after getting Sammy's stuff," Dean said with a grin. "Where is it by the way?"

"I told Paul to wait in the student lounge for you," Reese said. "I didn't think it would take you guys this long to get here, so I waited around but when you didn't show up right away I went to check the grounds and when you weren't there I came back. So it's damn lucky for all of us that you showed up when you did."

"Thanks Reese," Sam said.

"Take care you two," Reese said. "And I mean it. I'd rather not be investigating your murder next." She watched them leave, and Sam had to fight the urge to jog back to give Reese a hug, but he knew that she had a point. The sooner they left Stanford, the better.

"What do you figure?" Dean asked Sam as they made their way down the stairs. "About the lack of trace evidence, I mean?"

"I'm not surprised," Sam said. "How many oogie boogie's leave finger prints and hair fibers behind?"

"So you think it's a ghost?"

"Only one way to be sure," Sam said. "We're gonna have to do some kind of séance. Even with that I think I have a pretty good idea of who we might be dealing with."

"Who?" Dean asked. They'd reached the front doors again and Sam grimaced as he felt the cool breeze sting the skin of his arms once more.

"It's either the ghost of the boy that Michelle and Natalie killed," Sam said. "Or my folklore professor's got something to do with it."

"The guy who looks like Freddy Kreuger?" Dean asked in confusion. Sam nodded and, as the two of them headed across the quad towards the student lounge, Sam related to Dean all that Paul had told him about what he and Natalie had deduced about Wexler the previous evening.

"It makes a lot of sense when you think about it," Sam said as they reached the lounge. "Wexler's got the perfect motive and the means to get it done. That's why I was going to Stanley Hall this morning. I was going to look around and see if I could dig something up."

"Still wanna check it out?" Dean asked him as they entered the lounge which, for the first time in Sam's living memory was practically empty. There were only three or four students mingling around, one of which was Paul who was sitting at their usual meeting place around the fire.

"No," Sam said quietly. "Not right now anyway. If Wexler really is behind it he might be waiting in there and I'm not prepared for a confrontation yet."

Paul was sitting back in his chair, staring into the fireplace looking thoughtful. On the floor beside his chair sat several of his bags and Sam's big duffle bag which was packed to capacity. He looked up as Sam and Dean approached and smiled.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said. "Reese was champing at the bit looking for you."

"Sorry," Sam said, taking the chair next to Paul while Dean sat down on the sofa. "I was doing some…how do you reporter types say it? Ah yes, digging."

"Stanley Hall?" Paul asked with interest, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a grin, "him." He nodded at Dean who chuckled. Paul looked a little disappointed but shrugged and relaxed in his seat again.

"I don't know how the fuck you're keeping it together," Paul said, shaking his head. "I could barely breathe when I went to get our stuff."

"They'd…already taken Natalie out right?" Sam asked.

Paul nodded. "Yeah, but the blood was still there. And that fucking message…" He shuddered and shook his head. "Anyway, I'm hoping that I'll see Sasha and Brenda before I leave. And maybe Parker, but that's just because I wanna sock him in the nose as a parting gift."

"Give him one from me," Sam said. Paul laughed and then cocked his head to the side. "Are you guys leaving too?" He asked curiously. Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "If the cops and the rest of the students don't chase after me with torches and pitchforks then Reese most certainly will if I stay here too long."

"I'll miss you," Paul said sincerely and Sam smiled softly at him.

"Yeah…I'll miss you too," he said. "I still can't fucking believe this sometimes." He rubbed at his temples and shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean glance at him in concern, but thankfully he didn't make a move to comfort Sam in front of Paul.

"Try and see Brenda and Sasha before you go," Paul said. "And if you don't…well, I'll say goodbye to them for you."

Sam nodded. "Thanks man." He said, before getting to his feet and grabbing his duffle bag. "Good luck."

"You too," Paul replied with a smile. He nodded at Dean before turning back to gaze into the fireplace. Sam hesitated only for a moment and then he and Dean quickly exited the student lounge. They said nothing as they hurried across campus to the parking lot where they stowed Sam's duffle bag in the trunk.

As Dean put the key in the ignition, Sam looked at him fully from the passenger side. He could see the lines of worry on his brother's forehead and the intensity in his gaze. All at once it felt like Sam was really seeing him for the first time. Before Dean could so much as blink, Sam leaned over in his seat, put his hands on either side of Dean's face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He could literally feel Dean's breath get taken away as they kissed, harder than Sam could ever remember them kissing before. It was a kiss full of passion and need for something, for security and reassurance that Dean really was there and that they were going to make it through this.

When they finally broke apart, Sam could feel himself shaking slightly. They were still close together now, so close that Sam could see every fleck of color in his brother's eyes. There was silence between them for several moments, broken only by the hum of the engine and the sounds of their breathing.

Then finally, Dean said softly, "We'll be okay, baby. I know we will."

Sam smiled softly and then sat back in his seat, pulling seatbelt on. "Just don't go away again," he answered. "I'm…I'm okay as long as you're here."

Dean smiled but said nothing as he put the Impala in reverse and drove them away from the campus. Sam looked back only once as they headed down the road. It all seemed so surreal that he was leaving under these circumstances. When he'd first arrived here he'd been so determined to put all the demons and ghosts behind him that he could never have dreamed he'd be leaving under a cloud like this.

"Do you wanna stop at the motel first?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "I'd kinda liked to get changed if that's okay. Maybe have a shower." Dean nodded and drove them into town, which was oddly just as subdued and quiet as the college campus had been. Then again, most of the people who lived here were involved with Stanford somehow. Dean pulled the Impala back to the motel and carried Sam's duffle bag out of the trunk into the suite he'd been staying at. Sam could barely remember being here, even though it hadn't been all that long ago. He found it cruelly ironic that the last time he'd been here was after a murder just like it was now.

He showered in the small bathroom, grateful for the hot spray of the water. He half hoped that Dean would join him, but on the other hand he wasn't sure he had the energy for sex right now, no matter how badly he wanted to feel Dean's skin against his, despite the fact that not long ago it had been Damon he'd been desperate for contact with.

After throwing on a pair of jeans and pulling his school hoodie over a t-shirt, Sam joined Dean in the small kitchenette where his brother was busy looking through the local phone book. Dean looked up as Sam entered and smiled.

"You look a lot better," he said.

"I always look this good," Sam said with a grin and Dean laughed before turning his attention back to the phone book. "Who're you looking for?" Sam asked.

"Tamara Fawkes," Dean said. "That woman that my jail-mate told me about last night."

"Right," Sam said, suddenly recalling that Dean had been interrupted in his explanation by his attempt to break into Sam's dorm room. "So who exactly is she?"

"According to this," Dean said, scanning a small ad, "she's a medium who lives in Redding."

"Great," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Just what we need right now. An interview with a fraud."

"I don't think she's a fraud," Dean said, still concentrating on the ad. "That guy in the next cell over told me she was legit. Said he went to her after his mother passed away and she pretty much blew his mind with what she told him. Besides," he looked up at Sam with a small smile, "she doesn't advertise the way other psychics do."

Dean spun the phone book around to face Sam, who saw that Tamara Fawkes's ad was squeezed into the bottom right corner of a page dominated by other psychics and mediums whose ads were twice the size of Tamara's.

"I think it's worth a shot," Dean said. "If she is legit, then she'll know that we're hunters and she might be willing to help us."

"Yeah, but if she's not," Sam countered, "It's a three and a half hour drive to Redding from here. I really don't wanna waste that much time."

"We've got no other choice right now Sammy." Dean said. "There aren't any reputable psychics in Stanford besides college Goths who like to play with Ouija boards. If Tamara Fawkes really is a fake then…we'll figure something out from there."

Sam nodded. "Alright. We going now?"

"We're gonna have to," Dean said, glancing at his watch. "It's noon and by the time we get back from Redding it'll be getting dark. So…yeah, I think we should head out now." Sam nodded and Dean slammed the phonebook shut. They got to their feet and headed back to the Impala. As Sam slid into the passenger side, he suddenly felt the weight of all that had happened settle in over him. He needed sleep badly.

As they pulled out of the parking lot in front of the motel, Sam shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. He saw Dean give him a knowing look from the driver's side. Reaching forward, Dean shut the radio off and in only a few minutes, Sam was sleeping soundly.

_He knew he was dreaming within moments. First of all, he was back at Stanford, and secondly, he was watching Paul creep quietly through the halls of the faculty building, a place Sam had only ever been once before shortly after coming to school._

_Paul was stealthily approaching a polished oak door with a brass name plate on the outside that read "W. Wexler." He gazed at the name plate for a moment and seemed to be hesitating. Then he took a deep breath and put a shaky hand on the doorknob and turned. The door was locked. Paul shook his head and dug in the pocket of his dark jacket for a brief moment before pulling out his student ID card. With a grin, Paul wedged the card between the doorframe and the door. After a few moments of dexterous jiggling with his ID card, the lock clicked._

_Smiling, Paul stowed his ID card back in his pocket and, quietly as he could, pushed the door to Wexler's office open. _

_It was large for a teacher's office and despite Wexler's attempts to keep it organized, it was messy. There were books strewn on several desks, papers everywhere. Bookcases of various designs lined the walls, along with several cabinets and shelves, upon which rested various picture frames and several artifacts Wexler had collected throughout his life. Most obvious of all was the large collection of trunks and cases, which held the various props Wexler utilized in his folklore class. _

_Paul frowned, gazing around the room, realizing that a search through this mess would take hours and he had, at most, fifteen minutes to spare before somebody came and found him. He had to think like a serial killer with something to hide. If he wanted to hide crucial evidence, where would he put it? _

_A door at the back of the office caught his eye and, trying hard to knock anything over and risk leaving a trail, Paul worked his way through the office. Upon reaching the door, he found that it was locked with a deadbolt. He wouldn't be able to use his ID card for this door. _

_His eyes traveled once more around the office and, just when he was about to give up hope, he spied, of all things, a small clown statue that sat atop one of Wexler's shelves. For a moment, Paul simply stared at the thing in distaste. He hated clowns, and couldn't imagine why Wexler had a figure of one. The expression on its painted face wasn't exactly comforting either. Then something shiny around the clown's neck caught Paul's attention. It was a key on a silver chain._

_Quickly, Paul headed to the shelf and, standing on tiptoe, managed to get the key from around the statue's neck. As he did so, he noticed a picture that stood next to the clown. It was an old photo of several young people gathered around a building on campus…a building that Paul recognized as Stanley Hall in its better days. Paul recognized the young man on the right side of the photo as a young Wexler. This must've been taken before the murder…_

_Shaking his head, Paul turned back and went straight for the locked door. To his relief, the key fit and he was able to pull the door open. _

_It was a small closet filled to the brim with various odds and ends, but nothing too incriminating. Paul sighed in disappointment, and braced his hand on the inside of the door. His hand touched something cold and metal…and sharp. He glanced to the side and saw to his horror that his hand was resting on the end of a lethal double bladed axe, affixed to the back of the door on small brass mounts. He gasped, letting go of the door and jumped back._

_The door slammed shut in front of him, pushed by the person standing behind it. Paul staggered back, staring in horror at the form of William Wexler, who was standing next to the closet with his arms folded and an unpleasant leer on his face…_

"Sam…Sammy wake up!" Dean's voice brought Sam jolting awake. For a moment he simply lay there, looking wildly around. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, only it was darker than it had been when he'd entered. There was a slight drumming on the roof. It was raining.

"Wha?" Sam said blearily. "Where are we?"

"Redding," Dean said. "You were sleeping like a baby…for a while anyway." Dean was trying to hide the concern in his voice, but Sam could tell that his brother was worried. "You…you had another vision, didn't you?"

"For Paul's sake I hope not." Sam said, trying to ignore the cold dread sweeping through him. There was a dull throbbing in his head and he felt suddenly more on edge. The last time he'd had a dream like that, Michelle Mancini had ended up dead. If Wexler really was the killer, then Paul was in deep shit and there was nothing he or Dean could do about it now that they were in Redding.

"Well…we're here," Dean said, nodding out the front window. Sam peered out. It wasn't raining as hard as it had been the night that Michelle had been killed. The sun was obscured by thick grey clouds, making it darker for three in the afternoon than it should've been. Dean was parked in front of a small, one story house with a dark green shingled roof and white lining. A small flight of white wooden steps led up to the front door and Sam could just make out a small neon sign in one of the windows that read "Psychic Consultations."

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Sam stretched, nodded and then unbuckled his seat belt. His mind was still on Paul. Why the hell had he gone snooping in Wexler's office by himself when he knew how potentially dangerous it was? A part of him was having a hard time differentiating what he had seen between a dream and a vision and it wasn't making his headache any better.

He and Dean jogged up to the front door. They exchanged a look before Dean knocked on the door. They waited…and waited. Dean frowned and Sam shrugged. Dean knocked again, harder this time and had just opened his mouth to mutter something dark when the door was opened.

Having never rubbed shoulders much with real psychic before, Sam had been expecting some middle aged woman dressed in gaudy robes with bangles and several scarves. Tamara Fawkes was nothing like this. She was a petite young woman, probably no older than Dean, with long dark hair, skin like mocha and brilliant green eyes. Her full lips curved up into a smile, displaying brilliant white teeth. Despite the chill of the day she was wearing a black tank top and dark, form fitting jeans.

"You're late," she said with a small laugh. "I was beginning to think I'd have to track you down myself."


	11. Chapter 11

For several seconds, Sam and Dean merely stood there, gaping at Tamara's words. What the hell did she mean? Had she been expecting them or something? It was unnerving, Sam thought, but also a little exciting. If she had sensed them somehow, then maybe, just maybe, there was a good chance that she could help them with the murders taking place at Stanford.

"Well, are you just going to stand there all day or do you want me to help you?" Tamara said with a small grin. "Although I really wished the two of you would've phoned before you came all the way up here." She stood aside and gestured for them to enter.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other and then stepped into a small, dim hallway that led to a cramped living room. Sam's eyes travelled over the walls of the room and saw that there were several wooden shelves all with various little trinkets and ornaments on them. He'd been expecting something along the lines of skulls and potion bottles, but all he saw were various knick knacks that Tamara had obviously collected over the years.

Tamara led them through the hall past the living room, down another hallway to a door at the back of the house that was locked. As they walked, Sam glanced at Dean and noticed that his gaze was fixed appreciatively on Tamara's behind.

"I don't think your brother likes you staring at my ass," Tamara said as they stopped in front of the door. Dean blinked and glanced at Sam who shook his head and grimaced.

"S-sorry," Dean stammered.

"I said he didn't like it,' Tamara replied, turning to face Dean with a mischievous grin. "I never said I didn't ." Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Tamara only laughed and said, "Don't worry Sam. I'm not going to steal him. I'm not one to break up a happy couple."

"Wait," Dean said, "just how in the hell do you—

"Know your names?" Tamara finished, laughing at the look of disbelief on both Sam and Dean's faces. "And your little secret? Look, if I knew you were on your way then I obviously know a little bit about the two of you."

"So you are for real," Sam said, feeling slightly relieved that this trip hadn't turned out to be a waste of time after all.

"As real as they come," Tamara answered. "Hunters give off a special aura to psychics. I've been sensing all morning that there were two hunters out there who needed my help. After that I just narrowed it down, doing a little search through the ether, trying to find out who was in the area. And you two are the only ones."

"You're kidding," Dean said. "The only two hunters from between Redding and Stanford?"

"The only two between Redding and San Francisco, actually," Tamara said. "Most hunters are in the interior, where a lot of the crazy shit happens. Well…usually. It's the back roads where the oogie boogies and creeps usually go."

"Because nobody expects to find anything there," Sam guessed. "It's so out of the way that nobody would think to look there if something went wrong. Except for hunters, at least."

"Very good," Tamara said with a smile. "No wonder you're the one who went to college." Tamara turned to unlock the door, but Dean stopped her.

"How the hell did you know about…us?" He glanced at Sam, who knew that Dean meant the relationship that existed between the two of them.

"I told you," Tamara said, focusing on the lock, a large brass contraption that Sam had never seen anything like before. "I did a search for hunters in the area with my abilities. Being psychic I can tell a lot about people who are miles away and when I finally settled on your location I kind of did a quick scan to get a handle on who you guys are." The lock gave way and Tamara opened the door.

A strong smell of incense overpowered Sam as Tamara led him and Dean into the room. It was small and almost circular, although the house was completely square form the outside. In the center of the room was a circular table draped with a long purple veil. A large spirit lamp stood in the center, un-lit even in the dimness. A glance at the windows showed Sam that they too were draped with veils, red ones which gave the room its mellow crimson glow.

The walls were lined with more shelves, all of which housed some type of magical looking instrument. Skulls, candles, a crystal ball, jars of things and a pack of tarot cards were just some of the things that Sam was able to make out as Tamara motioned for them to sit down at the tall, spidery chairs that were set around the table.

"Nice," Dean said, looking around the room.

Tamara shrugged. "It convinces the tourists. While the two of you might be able to guess a real psychic from a fraud the average person can't. So if the room looks like something from a Bela Lugosi movie they feel like they're getting the genuine article." Tamara shook her head and idly fingered a small gold dragon statue set with emerald eyes. "Half this shit doesn't even do anything."

"So you do good business here then?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Tamara said with a wry smile. "There are a lot of other psychics in Redding…well you obviously saw the advertisements…although you didn't see the little phone number that comes with mine."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Dean asked.

Tamara rolled her eyes and took the chair in between Sam and Dean. "Because if you'd called I would've been able to tell you that I can't help you. Not the way you want me too."

Dean glanced at Sam, who felt his heart sink. Great, a three and a half hour car ride for nothing. And who knew what the hell was happening back at Stanford now? His vision of Paul came back to haunt him and he suddenly had a great urge to hit something in his frustration.

"Chill," Tamara said, putting a hand on Sam's arm. "I said I wouldn't be able to help you the way you wanted me too. I never I said I couldn't help you at all."

"So you know what we're here for then," Dean said. It wasn't a question. Tamara chuckled and nodded, taking her hand off Sam's arm and cracking her knuckles.

"That wasn't really psychic work," Tamara said. "After getting a feel for the two of you, I put two and two together and realized that since Sam goes to Stanford there could only be one thing on your minds." She sighed and ran a hand through her raven locks. "I have to admit that I've tried a lot in the last couple of days to figure it out for myself, just in case someone came knocking and asked. But I don't have much to go on." She grinned at the two of them and added, "At least, not until now."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"To get a reading like the one I want," Tamara began, "I need to have contact with something that has been in contact with whatever we're trying to reach. For example, these murders. If I wanted to figure out the identity of the murderer, I'd need to either touch body of one of the victims or else someone who's had direct physical contact with the victims themselves." She glanced meaningfully at Sam, who suddenly understood.

"Don't go getting excited though," Tamara added, looking slightly ashamed of herself. "Those kinds of readings don't usually bring strong signals…when they bring signals at all. And in this case…well, I think I'm safe in assuming that these murders aren't ordinary spree killings."

"That's what we figured," Dean said, glancing at Sam. "We've actually got a couple of suspects in mind."

"Oh?" Tamara said, turning to Dean with interest.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Either my folklore professor or…uh," he glanced hesitantly at Tamara before adding, "The ghost of a boy who was killed over a year ago."

"Why would your professor be responsible?" Tamara asked. "More importantly, how could he be responsible?"

"He's got a lot of interest in the paranormal," Sam said. "And he teaches an urban legend seminar every year. And, uh…he's also the only survivor of the Stanley Hall massacre."

Tamara raised her eyebrows. "Well that's quite a bit to go on. And this boy?"

"He was killed in an urban legend style accident," Dean answered. "Two of the victims were actually responsible for the kid's death so we thought that might be a motive…uh, if killer ghosts can have a motive."

"I wish Missouri were here," Tamara muttered darkly, more to herself than Sam and Dean.

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Never mind," Tamara said, shaking her head. "She's just another psychic. A little more experienced than I am. But fear not!" She added at Sam's mildly crestfallen look, "I said I could help you a little bit and help you I shall." She turned to Sam and asked, "Did you have any physical contact with the killer?"

Sam thought back. He'd come close to the killer when Damon had been murdered but couldn't ever recall ever actually touching the bastard. And as for Natalie…well, Reese had already told them that the killer had attacked Natalie outside the dorm room.

"No," Sam said. "But…ah, I did have, uh, close physical contact with the second victim…" He turned faintly pink, remembering exactly what he and Damon had been up to in the woods and hoped against hope that Tamara wouldn't ask him to elaborate.

Thankfully she didn't.

"Was this before or after the murder?" She asked.

"Before," Sam said, recalling that he hadn't touched Damon's body after it had fallen from the tree branch. The memory even now brought a sting of pain to him and he quickly shook the thought away. "Does it matter?" He asked.

Tamara nodded, grimacing. "Yeah. Any kind of psychic connection I could get with the killer would be strongest if you'd touched the victim after the killer had." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair once more, staring intently at the spirit lamp. For several long moments there was silence in the room as Tamara stared fixedly at the lamp, obviously deep in thought. Sam glanced anxiously at Dean, who was regarding Tamara with mingled interest and concern.

After a minute or so, Tamara got to her feet, so fast that both Sam and Dean jumped.

"We'll try contacting the spirit of that boy first," Tamara said, rummaging on the shelves for something. "The one that you suspect might be the killer. If the worst comes to the worst we can at least get an identity, a name or something." She pulled a box of matches from the shelf and sat back down, lighting the spirit lamp.

"Do you need anything for that?" Sam asked.

"Well," Tamara said, "if you had contact with the victim who was responsible for this boy's death then that would help."

"I have," Sam said. "Does it matter when?"

Tamara shook her head. "Not for a simple spirit contacting. Now as cliché as this sounds, I need you guys to join hands. And Sam, make sure your grip on mine is strong." Sam joined hands with Dean and Tamara, gripping the latter's hand firmly. "Stronger," Tamara said, her eyes closed. Sam glanced nervously at Dean, who shrugged. "Don't worry," Tamara said with a smile, "you won't hurt me." Sam sighed and tightened his grip on Tamara's hand. "That's better," she said.

She took several deep breaths and then said, "I need you to focus on this person, Sam. The one who was responsible for this boy's death…"

Sam closed his eyes and pictured Natalie in his mind's eye, focusing on her image as hard as he could, trying to convey everything he knew about her mentally. Without noticing, his breathing became in sync with Tamara's.

"Natalie," Tamara said, her voice sounding different, as though it were coming from the end of a long hallway. Sam had half expected her to be speaking with the voice of Legion and was inwardly thankful that that was a mere Hollywood trope.

"Natalie Simon…ah…yes…" Tamara seemed to be having some kind of conversation. "There he is…the young man…oh…" Her voice drifted off and for several seconds there was silence. Then Sam suddenly felt Tamara's hand pull out of his.

He opened his eyes and saw her shaking her head.

"It's not him," Tamara said. "It was faint, barely a glimpse, but he's at peace in the next world. Besides he doesn't have the propensity for this kind of evil, even in spirit form."

"So he's forgiven them?" Sam said.

"Completely," Tamara said. "Now as for this professor character…" She stopped and then glanced down at her hand, the one that had held Sam's. She frowned and then looked up at him, her expression puzzled.

"What?" Sam asked, feeling uneasy.

"You…" She began but stopped again, shaking her head and looking back down at her hand. "How interesting…"

"What is?" Dean said. "Look we're kind of on a schedule here and we really don't need the cryptic mumbo jumbo…" Tamara nodded, still looking at her hand.

"I think there may be more to your little brother here than meets the eye," Tamara said, glancing up at him and staring directly into his eyes. He suddenly felt even more uneasy and looked away. Was she talking about his visions?

Tamara shook her head and then snapped out of her reverie. "Right," she said. "As for this professor character, I don't think I could help there, not unless I had something of his to go on."

"Damn," Sam cursed. Then, remembering something he said, "Hey you didn't happen to get a name off of that kid's spirit did you?"

Tamara nodded and said with surprising briskness, "David Evans. Why?"

"No reason," Sam said, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. At least they'd gotten something useful out of this trip. He looked around for a clock to see what time it was, but couldn't find any in the room, not even amongst the things on the shelves.

He felt something brush the front of his hoodie and he glanced down in time to see Tamara's hand moving away from him. He glanced at her, bemused and saw that she was examining something held between her forefinger and thumb, something so small and thin that Sam could barely see it.

"What's that?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"A hair," Tamara said. "But it doesn't belong to either of you…its too blonde." Sam suddenly felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. How stupid could he be? Of course he'd been wearing this exact same hoodie the night of Damon's murder. They'd been close in his car, so close that one of his hairs would've most likely fallen on Sam's hoodie.

Tamara laid the hair on the table in front of her and kept one finger on it as she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

"Damon Brooks…" she said in the same hollow voice she'd used before when she'd been trying to find David Evans' spirit. Suddenly she gasped and gripped the edge of the table with her free hand. Her whole body began to shake but her face showed no signs of pain or fear, only intense concentration.

Sam glanced at Dean, worried.

"Should we do something?" he asked. Dean shook his head, staring at Tamara with wide eyes.

"No," Dean said, "I think she got something off that hair."

Tamara's whole body lunged forward in her chair, making the table shake. Sam glanced once more at Dean and shook his head. He wasn't the most experienced person in the world when it came to psychics but he didn't need to be to know that this wasn't your run of the mill vision. Reaching across the table he batted Tamara's hand away from the strand of Damon's hair. At once Tamara ceased her convulsions and her eyes flew open.

"Holy shit," she said, between gasps for breath. "That was intense."

"What was it?" Sam asked. "Did you see the killer?"

Tamara shook her head, her hand on her chest as she continued to collect her breath. "Not the killer…but what's behind the killer, the puppet master so to speak."

"So it is something supernatural," Dean said. "We were right."

"Oh you were right," Tamara said, giving Dean a dry smile, "but this ain't no ghost honey."

"So a demon then?"

"Not even that." She shook her head and cast the two of them looks that bordered on sympathetic. "It's a being, an ancient entity being harnessed by someone for its power. So in a sense you're looking for a human killer and a supernatural entity."

Sam looked at Dean, whose expression said the very thing he was thinking.

"We're fucked," Dean sighed, slumping back in his chair. "How the hell are we supposed to stop some immortal ancient being when we can't even find a human killer?"

"I never said it was immortal," Tamara said, shaking her head. "This thing can be destroyed. It's just a little tricky. And no, Sam," Tamara said as Sam made to speak, "I don't know how you kill it. I couldn't even see what it looked like." She shook her head and took a shaky breath. "The two of you had better start heading back. It's going to be dark by the time you get back to Stanford."

She led them out of the room, which she locked again, and then out of the house. Barely an hour had passed since they'd arrived. Sam had been expecting their visit to last all afternoon, and he was extremely thankful that they'd be able to get back to Stanford that night. Maybe he would be able to find out what had happened to Paul.

"What do we owe you?" Dean asked pulling out his wallet as they neared the front door. Tamara laughed and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said. "Not when it's something serious like this." Dean glanced at Sam who grinned. Free psychic consultations? That was a relief and a half.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful," Tamara said as she stood in the doorway.

"We've still got something to go on now," Sam said. "And that's a lot better than where we started from."

"Yeah," Dean said giving Tamara an appreciative smile, "you helped a lot."

Tamara grinned ruefully and then shook her head. "Be careful boys," she said. They nodded and turned to head back to the Impala. "And Sam," Tamara called. Sam turned back and saw that Tamara was looking at him with concern. "It's better that you don't try and find your father after this is all over."

Sam heard Dean stop in his tracks but did not look back. Tamara was gazing at him levelly and unlike when they were in the house, he met her gaze this time.

"He's searching for something outside what he can deal with," she said. "And if you two join him it's going to spell disaster for all three of you." She smiled slightly. "These murders are more than big enough for the two of you. When they're over…just promise me you'll make the choice for yourself. You're not under your father's thumb anymore…either of you." She glanced over Sam's shoulder at Dean.

"Okay," Sam said, not really knowing what he was agreeing to. Tamara nodded and then motioned for them to leave.

Sam didn't look back as Dean drove the Impala back down the street. The sky was growing darker and he could see thick ugly storm clouds coming in from the east.

"What the hell was she talking about?" Dean asked his eyes on the road. "I mean does she know dad or something?"

"No idea," Sam said, sitting back in the seat. "You know for my first visit to a psychic that wasn't really all that bad. We learned…well, a little bit I guess."

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Now we know the name of a dead boy and that we're dealing with some serious ancient voodoo here." He shook his head. "So that has to mean that somebody is controlling this thing, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, with a nod. "The question is, who? I mean we can rule out Michelle and Natalie since they're both dead. Maybe someone who was close to David Evans?"

"Great," Dean sighed, "so that means we could be dealing with anyone from his mother to his favorite teacher from grade school."

Sam shook his head. "I doubt it," he said. "Somebody has to have been really close to this kid. They'd also have to have some grasp of the supernatural world otherwise they couldn't summon this entity, whatever the hell it may be. And they'd have to know a thing or two about urban legends…" He frowned as a crazy suspicion formed in his mind. "Maybe Wexler's related to David Evans somehow?"

"That's pretty out there, babe," Dean said. "Then again," he added, "it's not like it would be the first time a crazy theory has turned out to be accurate." He groaned and angrily hit the side of the steering wheel with his hand. "So we basically drove for three hours to wind up barely anywhere. Great."

Sam frowned. Dean was taking this harder than he was. He reached a hand over and rested it on Dean's knee, desperate to comfort him and calm him down.

"It's okay," Sam said gently. "We still have –

"No it is not okay!" Dean said all but shouted, which made Sam jump and snatch his hand away. "Jesus Christ Sammy, this fucking bastard or bitch could be anybody and they're still out there! They've picked their way through almost half of your friends and they're clearly interested in you and I'm not just gonna fucking sit back and let them turn you into the next campfire tale!"

Dean took a deep breath and then said in a calmer voice, "I…I just found you again…we just found each other again and I'm not…Chirst, Sammy I don't want to lose you. Not even temporarily."

"Dean…" Sam said quietly, not really knowing what to say. Of course Dean was worried about him. When was Dean ever not worried about him? But Sam honestly didn't care what happened to him. He'd figured that he was the killer's main target, that whoever or whatever it was was killing those around him to play with him. And yet Sam was more worried about everybody else than himself. He really didn't care if the killer got him next, although the thought of leaving Dean like that was enough to kill him.

"I'm not gonna die," Sam told Dean softly. "Okay? We're gonna get this son of a bitch and then we'll…we'll figure it out from there." Tamara's cryptic parting words came back to haunt him and Sam shuddered, wandering exactly what she'd meant. He was still mildly troubled by the way she'd looked at him back in that small room after she'd let go of his hand, as though trying to search for something none of them could see.

Dean said nothing for several minutes, his eyes intent on the road. "You promise?" he said finally, not meeting Sam's eyes.

"Promise what?"

"That you won't die," Dean said. "That you're not gonna leave me again."

"Only if you make the same promise," Sam said, smiling softly.

"I promise," Dean said. Sam nodded and put his hand back on Dean's knee as they drove through the rest of the way back to Stanford.

It was half past six when Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot at Stanford. There were only a few cars there, most of them belonging to the faculty or campus security. Sam hopped out of the car and began walking towards the administration building.

"Woah," Dean said, jogging to keep up, "where are we headed?"

"Security office," Sam said. "I need to see if anything happened to Paul." It had been gnawing at him the closer they'd gotten to Stanford. Although they now had cause to believe in Wexler's innocence, Sam still didn't fully know if the man was completely trustworthy. When he thought about it, he wasn't really sure if he could trust anybody with the exception of Dean.

As they approached the front doors of the small security office, Sam heard thunder rumble in the distance. He stopped in his tracks as he noticed the two people who were coming out of it. He felt a sweeping sense of relief as he saw that it was Sasha and Paul. Sasha was dressed in a long leather jacket and Sam could just see the hem of a white dress underneath it.

"What's going on?" He called to them. Sasha started and looked over at him, relief passing over her face.

"Thank God," she said, hurrying up to him with Paul in tow. "I was afraid you guys had left for good."

"We kinda did," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "We had an appointment in Redding to keep. What's up? Everyone gone already?"

Sasha rolled her eyes. "No," she said. "Most of them are over at the fraternity house."

"What!?" Both Sam and Dean yelled at the same time. Sasha nodded, grimacing and looking up at the sky as another rumble of thunder broke the otherwise silent evening.

"It was Parker's idea," she said. "You know how he was all up on that Stanley Hall Massacre celebration party? Well now it's that and a memorial party for Damon and Natalie and also a farewell party." She rolled her eyes and looked extremely annoyed. "It's so damn insensitive…so naturally everyone showed up."

"Great," Sam muttered. Then he smiled as he realized the full implications of what that meant. "That's great!"

"Sam?" Dean said, looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Don't you get it?" Sam said, looking around at the three of them intently. "If everybody's gathered in one place at the same time there's no chance of the killer making an appearance! Everybody's safe!"

The others took a few seconds to process this before nodding in ascent.

"Well not entirely safe," Paul said. "There could be the chance that the killer might show up. They didn't seem to mind much with Natalie and that was an entire dorm full of people."

"Who were all asleep," Sam reminded him, although inwardly he thought Paul had a point. Then remembering why he was so worried he said, "So what were you up to while we were gone?"

Paul glanced at Sasha who sighed and shrugged.

"I was snooping," Paul said, confirming Sam's vision. "I…helped myself to Wexler's office—

"You broke in," Sasha said, shaking her head. "And Wexler caught him and hauled him off to campus security. Luckily the dean went easy on him, seeing as how everyone's leaving anyway."

"They took the newspaper from me," Paul said, rolling his eyes. "Like that fucking matters anymore. There's nobody left to read it."

"Did you find anything?" Sam asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"Oh, just a big mother fucking axe nailed to the back of Wexler's prop closet," Paul replied. "Wexler said he used it for his seminar or some shit like that."

Sam shook his head and then glanced at Dean, who sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"What now?" Sam asked him.

"Either we go to this party," Dean said, "or we get the hell out of here while we still can." Sam gave Dean a look that clearly said, "Not a chance in hell," and Dean shook his head. "Then I guess we're crashing the frat party."

"Parker's not going to like that," Sam said with a chuckle.

"Well too fucking bad for him," Sasha said bitterly. "Besides, I'm going to be there with you guys so you should be safe from him, not that he'd try anything after his encounter with Dean." She smiled at the memory.

"Need a lift?" Dean asked, gesturing to the Impala. Sasha and Paul nodded and followed him and Dean to the car. Once they were all piled inside, Dean pulled out of the parking lot. A loud crash of thunder shook the sky and at the same time lightning lit up the campus.

"Great," Sam muttered, "a lightning storm with a spree killer on the loose." Then he turned back in his seat and asked, "Does the name David Evans mean anything to either of you?" They both shook their heads. "Damn," Sam sighed, turning back in his seat. "Well I guess we'll just have to borrow a computer at the frat party."

Dean drove them to the frat house, the storm gathering power as he did so. Once they reached the house, Sam saw that nearly half the student body was probably at the party. There were cars parked everywhere and the whole house was lit up like a Christmas tree. As Dean struggled to find a free parking space, Sam's eyes travelled to the side of the house where he'd met Damon that night. He closed his eyes, forcing the memory away.

Dean was here right now, and that was all that mattered.

"Ready?" Dean asked him as Sasha and Paul got out of the car. Sam glanced at the house and the crowd of people gathered around outside of it.

Setting his jaw grimly, he nodded. As he got out of the car, he felt his skin prickle strangely. And as they approached the house he knew, without really knowing how he knew, that something was going to happen tonight and it wasn't going to be pretty.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam had expected the frat house to be crowded be he hadn't been expecting it to be jam packed with people. It seemed to him that the entire student body had turned out for the party, most likely thinking the murders were over by now or else not really caring if the killer was still on the loose.

Music thudded from the living room where most of the partygoers were crowding, dancing to the music or just hanging out. The party was in full swing, drinks were being handed out and left behind or else thrown on the floor and Sam huddled close to Dean, Sasha and Paul as they entered the house.

Sasha said something to Sam but the music was so loud that he couldn't even hear her. He gave her a shrug, indicating that he hadn't caught her words. Sasha frowned and then motioned them to follow her to the kitchen, which was a little less crowded than the living room and less exposed to the stereo, so the music wasn't as loud here.

"I said," Sasha told him, "that this is a little fucked up."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered. "Do these people even give a shit about the murders?" He glanced at a couple who were currently making out, pressed against one of the counters and shook his head.

"You sure we're going to be okay here?" Sam asked Sasha, glancing around the kitchen to make sure Parker wasn't around. He wasn't remotely afraid of the son of a bitch but the less trouble they encountered tonight the better. The feeling of impending doom was still weighing on him and he shivered slightly.

Dean surreptitiously slipped his hand into Sam's for a brief moment and gave it a supportive squeeze. "We'll be alright," he assured him. "Let's just not lose track of each other right now." Sam nodded, but he still felt tense.

"We need to find a computer," Dean said to Sasha.

The blonde girl cocked her head to the side. "Why?" She asked.

"We need to find information on that David Evans kid," He told her.

Sasha bit her lip and thought for a moment. Then, she snapped her fingers. "There's probably something in the archives at the Media Center."

"Why didn't we just go there?" Paul sighed, looking slightly uncomfortable at being in the party setting.

"Didn't think to do it," Sasha said. "I doubt you'd be able to find information about this person just by Google searching him. Too many security blocks. But there's shit load of old news articles at the Media Center in the archives. Was this kid from around here?"

"We think so," Dean replied.

"Then there'll probably be something there." Sasha answered.

Sam was just about to voice the notion that if that's where the information was then they should probably get the heck out of Dodge when a voice from the opposite side of the kitchen thundered, "YOU!"

Sam repressed a sigh. He'd been hoping to avoid any and all kind of confrontation with Parker during his time in the frat house, but he knew in the back of his mind that that was optimistic to the point of foolishness. Parker owned the fraternity with an iron fist, and Damon was living...or rather now dead proof of that.

He felt Dean tense beside him and knew that his brother was gearing up for an attack on Parker. Sam put an inconspicuous hand on Dean's shoulder to keep him calm and turned to face Parker, who was standing in the door of the kitchen, his fists balled at his side and his face contorted in rage. His complexion was so red from anger that it was almost funny.

Parker pushed his way through several people, looking like a charging rhino, although one that Sam wasn't even remotely afraid of. Parker had caught him by surprise the other day by the library and Sam was more than confident enough in his own ability to give the son of the bitch the what for in about three moves or less.

Although if Dean wanted to step up to the plate and be his knight in shining leather Sam wouldn't have minded. He liked it when Dean went into Protector Dean mode. Besides, Dean could take Parker down way better than Sam could.

"What in the fuck are you doing here?" Parker spat when he was level enough with them. Dean tensed even more next to Sam, but Sam just shook his head. They didn't have time for this.

"Sasha invited us," Sam told Parker simply, glancing at the blonde and seeing with satisfaction that she was giving Parker a perfectly innocent look that Sam knew would only serve to further infuriate her soon to be ex-boyfriend.

"Gotta problem with that?" Sasha asked Parker delicately. "I mean God knows this party is as insensitive as it's possible to be, so I figured if I was going to be dragged here I might as well have some enjoyable company."

Parker looked from her to Dean, who was glaring equally back at him, to Sam and then finally to Paul, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with his elbow propped up on the marble, his expression almost amused.

"And why'd you bring the reporter along?" Parker demanded, stumbling forward a little as one of the more rowdy frat boys bumped into him from behind. Sam restrained his laughter with immense difficulty.

"For the same reason as the others," Sasha replied. "And if you've gotta problem with that you can explain it to the cops."

Parker's eyes widened. "We're not doing anything wrong here!" He said almost insistently. "It's just a fucking party Sash."

"One that's being held in honor of a massacre that happened twenty five years ago and taking place during one that's happening right now, to people that you knew no less." Sasha's voice grew darker as she said this, her eyes boring into Parker's. "I don't think the police would like it very much on humanitarian grounds."

Parker stared her down for a second and then glanced once more at Sam, Dean and Paul. Finally he shook his head. "Whatever," he said dismissively. "I'm going to take a piss. Just don't gay up the place alright?" If Dean's muscles got any tenser Sam was sure his older brother would crack like a whip and Parker would be on the linoleum before he knew what had hit him. Luckily Dean seemed to resign himself to glaring at the other man. Parker turned to leave and then stopped, turning back and saying to Sasha in what he must have thought was a voice of bravado, "We're through babe."

"Oh no!" Sasha said in an affected, dramatic gasp. "Anything but that! How will I ever go on with my life?" Parker gave her one last look of disdain before leaving the kitchen. Sasha rolled her eyes and turned to Sam and Dean. "You guys alright?" She asked.

Sam nodded. "I'm not exactly made of glass you know," he told her with a small smile. He leaned closer to Dean, who was breathing heavily and whispered so only Dean would hear, "You alright?"

Dean nodded. "I'll be a hell of a lot better if he's the next one who gets offed," Dean told him darkly. Sam chuckled, gave his older brother's shoulder one last re-affirming squeeze and then turned to Paul. "We need to find Brenda," he said. Paul, who had been watching the door ever since Parker left, nodded and pushed himself off the countertop.

"That's easier said than done," Sasha told them, nodding towards the living room which currently resembled a mosh pit. "She could be anywhere in that crowd...come to think of it there's no way of knowing if she actually came here."

Sam frowned. He hadn't thought of that until now.

"I'm pretty sure she's here," Dean said. "It's what I would do. I mean, if there's some wacko running around, the place I'd feel safest is where there are a ton of people and less chance of someone to get hacked to fuck. We know the killer likes attacking people when they're alone. Besides I've never heard of any famous urban legends involving someone being killed in a crowd, so I think we're okay."

"How should we find her then?" Paul asked craning his neck as a couple of tall jocks entered the kitchen, momentarily obstructing their view of the living room.

"Split up," Sam said, not at all liking the idea in the slightest. "We'll just do a quick once over of this floor and the next and meet back here. No going to the basement or attic...just to be safe." He glanced at the others, who nodded.

"We should all do a once over on the...uh...dance floor," Paul said. "Just in case she comes in when one of us isn't there." He glanced at Sasha and said, "Wanna search the rooms down here with me?"

Sasha nodded, and then turned to Sam and Dean and said "Good luck", before heading into the throng. Paul gave them one brief nod before he followed her. Dean turned to Sam, his expression hard and Sam knew what was coming. There was no way in hell that Dean was going to let him go off on his own, even if it was in a crowded place like this.

"Can't stand to be without me for less than a minute, huh?" Sam told him teasingly.

"Damn straight," Dean told him firmly. "Who knows what kind of shit you could get yourself into here. Plus I don't trust you around all those frat boys," he added with a grin. Sam gave Dean a reproachful look and gave him a hard poke to the ribs with his finger.

"Jerk," he said.

"Bitch," Dean replied with a smile. Sam chuckled and, trying hard not to grab Dean's hand, led them out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Sam didn't like parties like this at the best of times. He was completely put off by them, having gone to his fair share since starting school all those months ago, but usually he just hung back and had a couple of beers. It was something about the crowd that put him off. He always felt tense when it seemed like nobody was going to move and the partygoers here were in no condition to make way for anyone, too content to grind together in time to the music blaring from the stereo, or else just standing in one place and talking.

And it was pretty damn dark in here too, the frat boys obviously having dimmed the lights for some kind of twisted ambience, although every now and then a bolt of lightning illuminated the room. Some people had chosen to come wearing masks like it was some kind of sick Halloween party and Sam wondered if any of these college kids actually gave a damn about what had happened to their classmates.

He couldn't see hide or bushy hair of Brenda anywhere on the floor and glanced back at Dean giving him an expression that clearly communicated this. Dean jerked his head up to the second floor. They were obviously going to have to continue their search up there. Paul and Sasha were no doubt going through the rooms down here already.

Sam sighed, and with immense difficulty turned around, bumping into a guy wearing a devil mask as he did so and led Dean away from the crowd, his heart beginning to hammer. A glance out one of the big windows showed him that the storm was picking up, rain streaking down the windows in torrents. No wonder there were so many people in here.

The stairs were too crowded for Sam's liking and he and Dean had to be extra careful not to step on anybody's hands. People were sitting on the steps, some drinking, others making out and still others just talking.

Dean leaned into Sam's ear and whispered, "If we can't find her, we should see if we can use a computer in one of the rooms to find more info on that David Evans kids that Tamara told us about."

Shit. Sam had forgotten about that. He gave Dean a half-hearted nod before continuing up the steps, dodging people and every once in a while looking back to the dance floor just to make sure that Brenda wasn't there.

At the top of the stairs, he looked back over his shoulder just to make sure he hadn't missed her among all the other kids crowding the steps, but there was no sign of her. Sam was starting to worry now. What if Brenda had decided to skip the party and was now being stalked by the killer? All sorts of scenarios ran through Sam's head as he rapidly began thinking about all the urban legends they hadn't come up against yet.

"C'mon," Dean urged him, nodding at the hall which was nowhere near as crowded as the stairs. "We'll just go to the end and see if she's there then we'll head back to the kitchen."

Sam regained his composure and nodded, heading forward, although he could fill panic rising in his chest, a fact not helped by the almost tantric beat from the stereo system blasting through the house.

As he and Dean headed down the hall, they looked into every open door but there was no sign of Brenda. Most of the doors were closed anyway and Sam was in no mood to walk in on people having sex at the moment. At the end of the hall was a large window that overlooked the trees leading to the forest. Sam glanced to his left and saw another flight of steps that led up to the attic.

He looked at Dean, his expression telling of his desire to search up there, but his older brother shook his head firmly.

"No Sammy," he said. "We're not breaking the rules right now. We'll do a double take back in the living room and then meet Sasha and Paul in the kitchen, alright?"

"But-" Sam said, but Dean shook his head once more. He wasn't going to budge. Sam looked back up the steps and inwardly thought Dean had a point. The attic was probably massive and even if there was someone up there it probably wasn't Brenda. She wasn't stupid enough to go up there at a time like this, not after what happened to Natalie.

_She wouldn't have a choice if whatever's behind this is forcing people to act out these legends,_ Sam thought bitterly. He groaned, knowing that that was a fair point. He was walking proof of that. He knew in any other circumstance he would've opened the dorm door and turned the light on last night, but the force behind these murders hadn't let him.

And that was why these murders were so out there. People in urban legends were often put into these scenarios and didn't act as most normal humans would which is why they hadn't actually happened...at least until now.

He and Dean headed back down the hallway and were nearing the stairs again when Sam saw a bundle of bushy brown hair near the banister. With a rush of relief he recognized Brenda, who was sitting on some kind of bench near the railing with her knees drawn up and her head down. She was wearing a tight black tank top and black jeans, which Sam thought unusual for this weather.

As they approached her, Sam motioned for Dean to hang back. Brenda may have the hots for his brother but Sam knew she'd probably feel a little more comfortable around him. He sat on the space next to her and patted her on the shoulder.

Brenda jumped and looked around wildly, as though someone had screamed in her ear. When she saw Sam, she relaxed a little but the expression of weariness on her face did not soften.

"Hey Sam," she said in a voice so quiet that Sam had to strain to hear her over the music.

"You okay?" He asked her. Brenda nodded, but her expression didn't meet this gesture of assurance. Obviously something was up. "We've been looking all over for you," he continued.

Brenda shrugged. "I just came from the bathroom," she said, her voice oddly hollow. "Ran into Parker..." She put a hand compulsively around the ring on her necklace and seemed to rub it with her fingers, her gaze drawn to the rain washed window. "Where were you and Mr. Yummy all day?" She asked him.

"We had someone we had to meet in Redding," Sam explained. Brenda nodded, her eyes almost blank. Sam glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody else could hear and leaned in closer, whispering to Brenda, "I'm sorry about what happened to Natalie."

"Natalie?" Brenda asked, bemused. She looked around as though searching for memory in the air before her expression become focused so intently so quickly that Sam could almost hear her mind snap back into place. She gazed at him, her eyes full of sympathy. "Yeah," she said softly. "It's...it's just too horrible to think about, y'know?"

Sam nodded. "Tell me about it," he muttered, still worried by Brenda's behavior. He studied her closer and said, "Brenda...have you had anything to drink since you got here?"

Brenda nodded. "Yeah...I had thing of beer that I put down when I went to go talk to Parker by the stereo. It was still there when I got back so...yay for me." She smiled furtively before looking back out the window as though she could see something out there Sam couldn't.

Sam felt his heart sink. Brenda had left an open drink out at a frat party. "Brenda...how many fingers am I holding up?" he asked her, holding up three fingers.

"N-not six each but...twelve," Brenda said, giving a half laugh and blinking rapidly. She seemed to realize what was wrong and groaned, "Oh shit," before jumping to her feet, but instead of making a dash for the bathroom nearest the hallway, she run down the stairs, not bothering to watch out for people.

"BRENDA!" Sam called getting to his feet, but by the time he reached the stairs he knew there was no chance of getting to her.

He sighed and returned to Dean who had been watching the whole encounter from the wall by the stairs.

"She okay?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "I think someone drugged her beer," he said in frustration.

"Well at least she figured out there was something wrong," Dean said. "Besides the bathrooms downstairs are probably less...uh...occupied as the ones up here."

Sam nodded and then looked around. The party was still in full swing. "What do we do now?" He asked Dean. "We found Brenda so what now? Should we go back to the kitchen?"

Dean shrugged. "I'd kinda like to look for a computer if that's okay," he admitted. "I mean, I know it's all scary and murdery and shit right now, but I figure the more we know about this thing the better."

Sam nodded. "I guess so. Although it's gonna be a hell of a time finding an empty bedroom."

Dean grinned at him. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." He grabbed Sam's wrist and lead him down the hall. Before Sam had an opportunity to ask what Dean's plan was his older brother bellowed, "WET T-SHIRT CONTEST BY THE BAR!" There was a pause and then several doors flew open almost at once and a wave of intrigued students rushed out, most of them guys, looking excited at the prospect of seeing such a contest.

Dean held up a finger, signaling for Sam to wait. After almost a minute, a several girls streamed out of the various rooms their boyfriends had vacated, obviously looking angry at this display of disregard.

"Works every time," Dean said with a smile. Sam laughed and followed his brother into one of the vacated rooms. Luckily for them there was a computer there. Sam closed the door behind them and locked it, taking his seat in front of the computer, which was currently displaying what appeared to be a porn actress screen saver.

"Fucking frat boys," Sam muttered. He glanced up at saw that Dean was looking appreciatively at the screen saver. He glowered at Dean and gave him a swat on the chest.

"Ouch!" Dean said, rubbing the spot where Sam had hit him. "C'mon Sammy...I can't help it."

"No more sex," Sam said, mimicking what Sasha had told Parker the other day as he booted up the internet browser.

Dean snorted. "If what we've done counts as sex," he muttered. Sam shook his head, ignoring Dean and navigating to the search engine. He held his breath, hoping against hope that they'd at least find something. He typed the name David Evans and hit the search button.

"Popular name," Dean noted. Sam was inclined to agree as there seemed to literally be hundreds of results ranging from doctors to mechanics to even an adult movie actor.

"None of these people are dead," Dean said, reading over Sam's shoulder, "and the ones that are are way too old to be our guy."

"Working on it," Sam said. He added the word "death," after the name and hit the search bar again. The results this time were more promising. "It would help if we knew where this kid was from," he said. He scanned the results, looking for anything likely but even by narrowing it down to the deceased there were still a multitude of entries.

Until...

"There!" Dean said, pointing at one near the middle of the second page. "That's the youngest we've seen so far...geez, that's only a year ago too..."

Sam clicked on the link. It was an online newspaper article. David Evans was a high school graduate who had died in a car accident down a highway road. He'd been driving home from a friend's house when another car had driven by in the opposite direction its lights off. He'd turned his high beams on to warn the other driver to turn his headlights on as well...

Sam felt a chill sweep through his body. "No..." he said out loud. "No fucking way."

"Sam..." Dean said quietly. "Isn't that how Natalie and that Mancini chick killed that one guy?"

"It's him," Sam said, shaking his head. "David Evans was the kid that Natalie and Michelle killed that night. So...then it's gotta be his ghost that's doing this." He looked up at Dean who surprisingly didn't look convinced. "Don't you get it?" Sam told him impatiently. "It's why all these murders are styled after urban legends! He was killed as an urban legend...or in one or whatever the fuck you want to call it so his ghost is getting revenge on Natalie and Michelle by killing other people just like he was killed."

"I don't know Sammy..." Dean said hesitantly.

"Well why in the hell not?" Sam asked in frustration. Did Dean want to make this more complicated than it already was?

"Because Tamara said that David Evans' spirit was at rest. He wasn't angry, remember? He'd forgiven them..."

Sam stared at Dean, as he too remembered what the psychic had told the two of them that afternoon. He glanced back at the screen. They'd come so close and yet they were no nearer figuring this thing out than they had been when the murders had started.

Sam got to his feet, kicking the chair back and knocking it over. Dean jumped and backed up several paces.

"So what?" Sam fumed angrily. "We're just supposed to sit around and wait for whatever the fuck it is to come out of the woodwork?"

"Sam..." Dean said calmingly, but Sam wasn't having any of it.

"Fuck this!" Sam stormed. "These are my friends Dean, and me might I add. Whatever the hell is doing this is centralizing in on me, remember? Why the fuck else would I be around when both Damon and Natalie were killed?" Dean didn't say anything but stared at Sam, his eyes wide, obviously not knowing what to say to calm him down.

There was a loud grumble of thunder and simultaneously a flash of lightning. A faint buzzing groan filled the room and the lights flickered...and then died. The storm had knocked the power out.

"Oh what the fuck now!?" Sam groaned, kicking the edge of the bed in his anger. He only accomplished receiving a stinging pain in his toe as a result and hissed under his breath. There was silence for a moment and then Dean's face came into view in a glow of pale light. He'd pulled out a flashlight from wherever the hell he'd kept it hidden.

"I don't know what we're going to do Sam," he confessed. "But I know what we aren't going to do. We're not going to throw a conniption fit because we can't figure out what's going on." Sam fixed Dean with a piercing look.

"Really nice," he said.

"What the hell else did you want me to say?" Dean told him, holding the light between them so that they could see each other. "There have been a lot of times when we didn't figure out what we were chasing until it jumped out at us, remember? All those hunts-"

"I don't want to hunt anymore Dean!" Sam all but yelled, registering dimly that all the noise from downstairs had all but ceased. Obviously the lights going off had dispersed the party. Sam sank to the bed and let his head fall in his hands as he felt all the rage, fear and pain that had been thrown his way over the past several days overwhelm him.

He sat there, his whole frame shaking as he tried to prevent himself from sobbing. He was so sick of this bullshit. He hadn't wanted this to turn into a hunt in the first place. Seeing that vision of Michelle had been bad enough and he couldn't believe how fast things had seemed to escalate from there. Now they were searching for something they didn't even know the identity of. All he knew was that it was still out there and there were plenty of his friends left to be hacked to fuck.

He felt the mattress depress as Dean sat down next to him and put a strong arm around his shoulder. Sam let his head fall against Dean and sat there as his older brother ran his fingers through his hair.

The rain continued to fall outside. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed every now and then. Sam remembered that first time with Dean all those years ago. It had been raining then.

"I don't know what to do baby," Dean told him softly. "And...I'm sorry for dragging everything back here. Christ knows I know you hate hunting and all...But...when we're finished with this son of a bitch...I promise we can have it all back again okay? We'll go away. No more demons or ghosts. We'll just...live normally...as normally as we can."

"I don't want normal," Sam said softly. "I want…I want safe Dean. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Then I'll give us safe," Dean said.

Sam didn't say anything for a few moments, perfectly content to just sit there with his head resting on the crook of Dean's shoulder.

"Promise?" He said after a while.

Dean chuckled in the semi-darkness. "I promise." Sam smiled and titled his head up, his lips meeting Dean's in a kiss that surprised the older man. For a moment he felt he'd literally stolen Dean's breath away but then his brother returned the kiss, their lips brushing together softly at first. Dean, always needing to be in control, soon took charge of the kiss and Sam moaned inwardly as he felt Dean's tongue slide gently into his mouth.

Dean shifted, pulling Sam closer to him and adjusting their position so that he was lying on top of the comforter with Sam straddling his lap. His hands found the side of Sam's face and pulled him closer hungrily. Sam felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. They hadn't been together like this in months and he almost felt lightheaded from the nearness.

Regretfully he broke their kiss, his hands finding Dean's face and holding it. It was too dark to see him clearly even with the flashlight on the bedside table, but Sam could see Dean's eyes, brightly shining at him in the darkness with an intense, burning need.

"Remember what you said we could do when I was eighteen?" He asked, trying to catch his breath. Dean looked at him searchingly for the briefest of moments and then he smiled so widely that Sam was surprised the whole room didn't light up.

"You sure you want to?" Dean asked, if only to be the gentlemen about it. Sam's hand travelled down the side of Dean's cheek, down his arm and found his big hand. Gently, he led it to the front of his jeans, forcing Dean to palm against the erection straining against the denim.

"That answer your question?" Sam asked boldly. Dean's sharp intake of breath told him everything he needed to know. With a haste born of lust, Dean began undoing Sam's belt, but Sam stopped him with a touch to the back of his hands. "No Dean," he said. "Not this way. I want it to be like before..."

"Whaddya mean Sammy?"

"I want you...to...to be on top..." Sam said, feeling somewhat foolish for asking.

Without a word, Dean turned them over, resting Sam's head on the pillow. The light from the flashlight shone better on the person on top Sam realized as he saw all of Dean's face in the glare. His eyes were shining tenderly at Sam who smiled up at his big brother.

Dean placed a swift kiss on Sam's lips before running his hands up under Sam's hoodie. Sam let out a hiss of pleasure as he felt Dean's hands touch the skin of his chest, warm and gentle despite their rough texture. Dean's fingers ghosted over Sam's nipples before running down the length of his torso once more.

"Dean," Sam moaned as his brother continued this massage. "P-please..."

"Please what Sammy?" Dean asked huskily.

Sam ground against the air, desperate to convey what he wanted without words to the man above him. He didn't even think he could form coherent speech with the state of burning need he was in right now. Dean's thumb casually flicked Sam's nipple, causing him to gasp out. "D-down there", he moaned. "I want to feel you..."

That seemed to be all Dean needed to hear. He withdrew his hands from Sam's hoodie and pulled it over his head, leaving Sam 's chest bare beneath him. "You sure about this?" Dean asked once more. Sam could only groan in response. Dean chuckled to himself again ran his hands up Sam's jean clad thighs, stopping just at the top of his belt.

Dean made quick work of the offending leather strap, throwing it over his head and into the darkness. He cupped Sam's hard on through his jeans, making Sam squirm, thrusting into Dean's palm. "Please," Sam moaned, feeling like he could cry from wanting.

"Shh," Dean whispered, leaning down to burn Sam's lips with another scorching hot kiss. When they broke apart Dean pressed his lips close to Sam's ear, his hand still rubbing the bulge in Sam's jeans with cruel painstaking slowness.

"Do you love me Sam?" Dean whispered.

"Yes!" Sam replied. "You know I do." Dean's fingers pinched Sam's zipper, sliding it down slowly.

"Do you want me right now?" Dean asked, his lips still pressed almost flush with Sam's ear.

"Dean _please_!" Sam practically pleaded. Thunder rattled the windows and he was dimly aware of how inappropriate it was to want Dean so much when there was some quasi-supernatural psychopath running around but he didn't care. He'd been through enough in the past five days. Hell, he'd been through enough in his life. He deserved this.

Dean kissed the side of Sam's face and in the next second popped the button of Sam's jeans. His fingers hooked the waistband and Sam arched his hips allowing his older brother to slide the fabric off of him. He lay there in his boxers, Dean hovering over him dominantly, his cock aching to be free from the loose material of his shorts.

Dean's face slid out of sight but Sam felt him, his warm breath playing against his crotch. And when Dean finally removed Sam's boxers and wrapped his lips around the hard length of Sam's member, Sam couldn't help himself. He let out a loud cry of pleasure that was lost under another loud rumble of thunder.

He and Damon had done this plenty of times, but the sheer fact of the matter was that Damon was not Dean and the reality of this hit Sam like a ton of bricks. Dean knew how to make Sam feel good, he knew what would make Sam a writhing mass of sex because they knew each other's bodies so well. Dean knew how to work his lips in just the right way, knew where to touch and how to touch. Damon had only ever done what he thought Sam would like, not that sex with Damon had ever been bad. It just couldn't hold a candle to how Sam felt with Dean.

He knew nothing ever would.

Sam ran his hands through Dean's hair, feeling like he could levitate off the bed with how good it felt to have this familiar pair of lips lovingly working at his length. He could feel himself drawing close but didn't want to just yet. He wanted to feel Dean for the first time, really feel him.

"D-Dean," Sam gasped. "Stop for a sec..."

Dean lips slid off of Sam's cock with a slowness that should have been criminal. Sam had to close his eyes and concentrate with all his might to stop himself from coming.

"I want you..." Sam began, his breathing ragged from pleasure. "I mean...I want us too..."

Dean crawled up the bed so that Sam could see his face properly. He was grinning.

"You sure you're ready?" Dean asked once more. Sam groaned. How much more ready could he possibly be?

"Dean, you aren't going to hurt me," Sam told him.

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't work like that Sam. It always hurts the first-"

"It's not the first time," Sam said with a sigh. He looked away from Dean, realizing that his next words could spell disaster for the whole thing. "I...Damon and I had sex...I'm...I'm used to it, okay?" He couldn't look at Dean right now. That revelation had to sting, but Sam had never known Dean would ever come back and he certainly hadn't foreseen ever being like this with him again. Silently he berated himself for ever giving it up to Damon.

Dean brushed the hair out of Sam's eyes, but still Sam didn't look up.

"Look at me Sam," Dean instructed him. Sam held his breath and turned his head to look back up at his older brother. Dean didn't look angry at all. His gaze was understanding, forgiving almost. "It's okay," he said, brushing his thumb over Sam's lips. "I'm not mad at you baby. It makes it a little easier 'cause it won't hurt as much for you."

Sam smiled up at Dean and leaned up to kiss him. Dean stripped off his shirt, having discarded his jacket a while ago, and threw it into the darkness with the rest of Sam's clothes. Sam couldn't stop his hands from reaching up to explore Dean's chest, his fingers tracing over muscle and old scars. Dean kissed him once more, his hand reaching down to undo his own belt. He stripped his pants off. Sam felt Dean's bare cock brush against his thigh.

"Y-you went commando." Sam stammered.

"Always need to be prepared," Dean said with a grin. Then, his voice becoming softer he whispered, "Help me out here Sammy. Show me what to do."

Sam smiled and lifted his legs so that he was straddling the outside of Dean's hips. Dean instinctively hitched Sam's legs under his arms and crawled forward. Sam gasped as he felt his older brother's length prod the inside of his thigh. They were close enough to kiss now and Sam took full advantage of this, crushing his lips to Dean's. Dean's skilled hand wrapped around the head of Sam's cock, moistening his length with his own wetness. Slowly he trailed his hand from Sam's cock, lower past his aching balls until finally his fingers came to rest at Sam's opening.

Dean broke their kiss as a flash of lightning illuminated the room.

"Ready?" Dean asked him breathlessly. Sam nodded.

"Ready."

Dean was slow, careful and loving in a way Damon never had been. His fingers probed Sam's hole delicately despite Sam being the more experienced of the two and he knew that Dean was only being so careful because he didn't want to hurt Sam. He never wanted too. All he'd ever wanted to do was make Sam feel good, happy...loved.

And when Dean finally entered Sam, the younger man knew that he would walk the fires of Hell to keep Dean safe. Dean was always looking out for him, always doing things for him. Sam was going to make damn sure that this thing, this monster or whatever the fuck it was that was hunting the people closest to him down wouldn't get the opportunity to lay a finger on Dean. Or himself for that matter. Because he knew that if anything ever happened to him it would destroy Dean and he couldn't bear that.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean as Dean increased the pace, stifling his cries as he felt Dean reach that special spot inside of him. Dean pulled Sam forward so that he was sitting astride his lap, Dean still inside Sam and thrusting inwards and outwards and making Sam see stars.

He felt warmth spread in his pelvis, his balls tensing. He was so close now. Unable to control himself, Sam bit down on Dean's shoulder, crying out as he came all over Dean's belly. Dean let out a gasp and pulled out of Sam who wasted no time in wrapping a fist around his older brother's cock. He jerked Dean off until he let out a groan of ecstasy and came, coating Sam's fingers.

They both collapsed against the bedspread. Sam instinctively rolled over and huddled into Dean's waiting arm, breathing heavily as his older brother held him in a way he hadn't since before that terrible day all those months ago.

"I love you," Sam whispered into Dean's neck. Dean ran his hands through Sam's thick hair, stroking it lovingly as they lay together in the darkness, ignoring the storm that was still raging beyond the window.

"Love you too Sammy," Dean replied, kissing him on the forehead. At that moment there was another groaning hum. The lights flickered back on. The two brothers laughed. "Electric sex, huh?" Dean noted with a grin. Sam smiled, kissed Dean quickly and got to his feet, going around the room and gathering his clothes.

The room they'd chosen had an adjoining bathroom. "I'm gonna take a quick shower," Sam told Dean, who was still lying on the bed with his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling with a grin.

"Be there in a sec," Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Sam laughed and headed into the white bathroom. It felt so strange for things to feel this normal and he wouldn't have been surprised if later they walked out of the room and found themselves in that motel back in Indiana and this whole thing to have been some powerful ass spell or really fucked up dream.

There was a small battery powered radio next to the sink. Smiling, Sam idly switched it on and had just turned to start the shower when a noise from the stereo made him stop dead in his tracks and at the same instant his vision began to swim as another vision hit him.

Sasha was screaming over the airwaves for her life. In his mind he saw her back away from what appeared to be the mixing booth at the radio station as the parka suited figure swung his axe through the glass, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces.

"No." Sam said through gritted teeth. He pulled his jeans and socks on, not bothering to get his boxers on under his pants and turned, heading out of the bathroom. The screaming was in the living room too and he could just make out Dean rapidly putting his clothes on.

He'd turned the alarm clock radio on when Sam had stepped into the bathroom.

"Sammy wait!" Dean said, but Sam wasn't going too.

He was out of the room and pulling his hoodie over his head before Dean even had his boots on. He ran down the stairs, knocking over half empty cups of beer. He heard Dean following him and was only dimly aware of how silent and dark the whole frat house was.

Before Dean could stop him, Sam burst out the front door and took off running into the night, completely ignoring the torrential storm around him.

He was not going to let this motherfucker take Sasha away from him too.


	13. Chapter 13

After splitting up from Sam and Dean, Sasha had pushed her way through the crowd in the living room, her eardrums throbbing in protest at the thudding of the music. Giving Parker the what for had definitely helped to relieve at least a small amount of tension but now that she was out among the throng all the anxiety came back to her.

The past few days had been a literal nightmare for her. Never in her life had she ever expected to be involved in something like this. She hadn't lost any friends or even family members while growing up and now here she was with people dropping like flies around her in the most grisly way imaginable. Outwardly she'd put on the strong face and in a way she was grateful for Parker's displays of completely douchebaggery because it allowed her to have an outlet to vent on.

But inwardly she could feel her composure starting to slip.

She knew in the back of her mind that somehow all these murders were connected to Sam. Not that she thought he was responsible at all. She knew him too well to think that. He was the most affected by it having been present for two of the murders. Obviously the sick fuck who was pulling this shit was after him and she would be damned if she let anything happen to him.

Ever since he'd come to Stanford she'd made it her job to look out for him. He'd reminded her of herself in the way that he tried to put on a brave front in face of anything too difficult for him to bear. He'd needed somebody when he'd first come to school. He'd been like a six foot four deer in headlights.

It hadn't been easy on him, especially after Damon doing what he'd done.

And now this. Even with Dean here, Sasha still felt that it was her job to look out for Sam.

And now apparently also Brenda seeing as she had all but dropped off the face of the planet. Sasha stood in the middle of the crowd, looking around and cursing her height, trying to see if she could make out Brenda's bushy hair amongst the mass of people.

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to get her pulse down, wondering whether or not it was Parker come back for a pathetic attempt at getting back together. But it wasn't Parker.

It was Paul.

"I thought you could use a little company," he said with a small grin. Sasha chuckled and gave a nod. She jerked her head toward the hall at the opposite side of the dance floor and Paul nodded. Together, they wormed their way through the other people and away from the music.

"Sam and Dean are going to check upstairs first," Paul informed her. "I figure we should look around here somewhere and see if we can find Brenda."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "That's going to be easier said than done," she said, glancing over her shoulder as though hoping to find the girl leaning against the wall of the hallway. "She might not even be here for all we know."

Paul frowned, looking restless. "Well we've got to give it the benefit of the doubt," he said earnestly. "And if she's not then...we're just going to have to assume that she's either dead or driving away from here as fast as her shapely ass can carry her."

They started off down the hall, glancing into bedrooms in hopes of finding Brenda but only ever seeing people either hanging out or making out shamelessly. Sasha tried to tell herself that these people didn't know, that they weren't as close to the situation as she, Paul, Sam and Dean were but still she couldn't help but wonder how they could all be so at ease.

Hell, now that she thought about it, Paul didn't even know about the whole supernatural aspect of these murders, not that she was inclined to tell him. Paul was a straight-laced reporter, more Time Magazine than National Enquirer and he'd probably think that the three of them were out to lunch if she told him that some other worldly forces were at work here.

When they reached the end of the hall they were confronted with two choices. Either go outside and check on the patio or take the door to the right to the basement. The noise from down there wasn't as loud but Sasha could see a glow of light. People were obviously down there, most likely to get away from the noise and commotion of the party above. Still, the basement of the frat house was as massive as the building itself and there were plenty of dark places for Brenda, or something else to be hiding.

She and Paul glanced at one another, both of them looking dubious at their choices.

"Loser gets the basement," said Paul, raising his fist. Sasha nodded and after a quick determining game or rock-paper-scissors it was decided that Paul would search the basement and Sasha would go outside and look on the porch.

"Good luck," Sasha told Paul as he made his way down the stairs. He gave her a small, albeit not entirely assuring smile and nodded in return. After he'd turned the corner and vanished from sight, Sasha walked to the patio door and pushed it open.

The air was rife with moisture and the wind was cool and refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party inside. The trees in the forest beyond were rustling in the high wind and Sasha, straining her ear, heard the rumble of thunder.

Nobody was mingling on the patio. She knew that it wrapped around one half of the frat house to the front porch and so after breathing in some more refreshing air set off, glancing out at the field leading towards the darkening woods to see if anybody was there.

She hadn't even made it halfway around the side of the house when she heard a voice from up ahead and around the corner, an angry, desperate voice that was also laced with fear. Recognizing it as Parker's, Sasha flattened herself against the side of the house and peered around the corner, listening intently.

Parker was talking to someone, apparently on the phone and pacing back and forth along the porch.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing asshole," he hissed. "It's the old Babysitter and the Man Upstairs urban legend isn't it? Well guess what fuckwad, I'm not babysitting!"

Sasha's eyes widened. Was Parker on the line with the killer or was someone just pulling a practical joke on him? Carefully, Sasha inched closer until she could see him better. There was a loud plink on the roof, making her jump a little. It was starting to rain and she had to strain her ears to hear what Parker said next.

"F-fuck you!" Parker stammered. "What the fuck do you want?"

There was a pause in which the rain picked up, but still not loud enough that Sasha did not hear Parker drop the phone on the porch and talk off like a shot, his eyes suddenly wide with terror. Not wanting to miss her chance, Sasha rounded the corner, stooped and picked up the phone.

The line was dead.

Cursing, she took off after parker, reaching the front porch in microseconds. The rain had cleared it of anyone who had been there so she had a clear line to the front door, trying hard to ignore the added din of the music. She looked around the room, trying to see Parker through the crowd. She saw him at the top of the stairs, stumbling passed people and clutching his stomach.

Sasha wanted to follow him but at that moment the crowd began to surge as a new song began playing, one that seemed to excite them all the more. She tried pushing through them but couldn't, they were pushing in on all sides, thinking her just another one of them and forcing her into the writhing mass. Enraged now, she threw her hands forward and began shoving people out of the way, ignoring their cries of protest.

At last, at long last she managed to tear herself away from the crowd and stumbled towards the stairs, picking her way through the people assembled there. Once she made it to the top, she looked around for Parker but couldn't see him anywhere.

What she did see was a streak of light pouring out from under the bathroom door to her left. It was open only a crack. Whoever had gone in there hadn't bothered to shut it. Of course in this environment most people weren't all that careful about things like that but she had to take a chance.

With a deep breath, Sasha squeezed through the door, closing it behind her before she turned around to see who was in here.

Her eyes widened, her heart skipped a beat and the scream died in her chest.

Parker was lying on the floor next to the toilet...what was left of him at least. There was blood splattered on the tiled floor and the walls nearest him, his guts on his lap, protruding from the stomach that had seemingly exploded. Something was gleaming in the light near his bloody hand and, tearing her eyes way from the gory sight, Sasha saw a small, open packet of Pop Rocks.

Retching, she turned away from the horrible sight and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her. Her vision was swimming, the music from downstairs driving her delirious. She had to get out of here. The killer was here, in the frat house. They were all in danger. She had to warn them somehow.

As she stumbled down the stairs, she glanced at the offending speakers and, through her horrified haze, got an idea. It would be the perfect way for her to tell them all that they were in danger.

Determination firing up in her, Sasha took several gulps of air and headed for the front door, out into the downpour. She managed to find her car, which she'd left parked here earlier, and somehow started it, driving through the darkness and the rain in the direction of the media center.

As she drove, she gripped the steering wheel hard as she attempted to calm herself down. Parker may have been an asshole but nobody deserved to die that way.

The media center was deserted now, everyone having gone home, but Sasha still had her keys. She ran through the rain after parking her car and hastily opened the door, entering the silent darkness of the foyer. She looked around, keenly away of just how dark it was in here, how alone she was. She shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate. The killer was still at the frat house, so there was no way that she was in danger here.

Determinedly, she headed to the elevator, revelling in the peaceful silence as she headed to the upper level where the radio station was located. Once there, she went to the dark sound booth and set about setting up. It only took a few moments. Usually she relied on the audio-tech for this but he was one of the masses at the frat house right now.

Once she set up, she went back to the recording booth and set the frequency to the campus radio, the station that the partygoers had been listening to at the frat party. They'd no doubt be pissed off that someone was ruining their fun but whatever. She was saving their lives right now.

Taking a deep breath she put her headset on, tucking the portable microphone into her front pocket and began to broadcast.

"I know you're probably all having a real good time right now," she began, surprised to hear how shaky her voice sounded, "but you need to get out of that party as soon as you can."

There was a brilliant flash of lightning and Sasha jumped a little, surprised by it. Regaining her composure she continued, "Please listen to me. The killer is at the party with you all. Get out of there as soon as you can. You need to-"

A groaning hum filled the room as the lights died. Sasha's eyes widened in surprise and an inward feeling of dread. The storm had knocked out the power grid. But no matter. She had the portable for that. It'd be harder to get a clearer frequency with it since it was so small but she had to get the message across.

As she was fishing in her front pocket for the microphone another flash of lightning filled the room and Sasha thought that she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She glanced at the audio booth, which was now pitch dark. She felt an overwhelming desire to run out of the studio and had just gotten to her feet to do so when all her willpower drained. She felt a pull towards the glass window in front of the darkened little room and before she could help herself she walked towards it, her heart beating rapidly in anticipation.

Sasha was level with the audio booth, her nose only an inch from the glass. Another dazzling flash of lightning filled the room. Sasha screamed and backed away from the glass in horror. Someone was standing in the small booth, someone wearing a dark green parka lined with fur around a hood which was pulled so far that their face was obscured. And they were carrying a double bladed axe, an axe which a moment later they smashed through the glass, shattering it and just barely missing Sasha, who made a dash for the studio door which she wrenched open, tumbling into the hall beyond, screaming for somebody to help her.

The killer was hot on her heels, bursting out of the door behind her, his axe held in both hands. Sasha scrambled away, running as fast as she could down the hallway and crying out for help. For a reason she couldn't quite explain she passed by the more practical path of the stairs and headed for the elevator. Desperately she jabbed the button for the elevator, looking over her shoulder as the killer drew near.

The elevator doors slid open and Sasha dove in, hammering on the button to close the door, just wanting to be away from the killer and his axe. The door slid closed just in time and Sasha leaned against the elevator wall, breathing heavily, trembling as the elevator slid down to the second floor.

When the door opened, Sasha cautiously peered outside before she crept out, making towards the staircase. She was only inches away when the killer jumped down from the landing above, landing in front of her and blocking her escape. Sasha let out a cry of rage, frustration and fear and backed away, tripping her own feet and falling into the elevator once more as the killer approached her menacingly.

"Please," Sasha sobbed, "please I don't wanna die."

No...no she didn't. And she certainly wasn't going to die here like this, cowering in an elevator, not when Sam still needed her help. His face hovered before her vision, propelling her into one last violent flight of frenzy. She lunged forward and toppled the killer over, leaping over his body and making it into the hallway beyond.

The killer caught her ankle as she lept and she stumbled towards the railing and over it. For a microsecond Sasha experienced the feeling of the world turning topsy-turvy before she had the sense to fling her hand out and grab the railing, catching herself in the nick of time, dangling by a lifeline.

She saw the killer get up, raising the axe over his head, prepared to bring it down on her clinging fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

The door to the foyer banged open from below.

"SASHA LET GO!" Sam's voice shouted. She didn't need telling twice. With a scream, Sasha let her grip loose of the railing just as the killer brought his axe down. She fell into darkness and then was caught by a pair of strong arms that weren't quite strong enough to hold her up as inertia knocked her and her savior off their feet.

But she was alive. She glanced up at the second floor. The killer was leaning over the railing, watching her and Sam, his head cocked to the side. He raised a gloved hand and waved his fingers in a twisted farewell at them.

"Let's go," a voice said. Sasha turned and saw that Dean had followed Sam, dripping wet as much as his brother was from the downpour outside. Sam helped Sasha to her feet and they headed out of the media center and into the storm, Sasha leaning against Sam for support as she shook with fear and relief.

Sam felt himself fill with relief as he and Dean led Sasha to the Impala. He'd run out of the party without so much as a rational thought, determined to save Sasha no matter what the cost. He had heard Dean following him, shouting above the storm for Sam to actually think about what he was doing.

He was so intent to save Sasha that he hadn't noticed Dean get into the Impala until he was half way down the road from the frat house when Dean pulled the car to a stop in front of him and ordered him to get in, laughing a little at Sam's brash desire to be a hero.

Now as they drove away from the radio station with Sasha shivering in the back seat, Sam tried hard not to think about what could have happened if they'd been a second too late.

"I don't understand this," Sasha said in a small voice. "I was like doing everything they tell you not to do in the scary movies."

"Don't beat yourself up Sash," Sam told her. "That's pretty much what happened when Natalie was killed. There was something controlling me, making me live out the legend."

Dean, who had been silent ever since they had entered the Impala suddenly said in a grim voice, "What the fuck do we do now? We got everybody away from the party and for all we know the killer wasn't even there to begin with. And looking up that Evans kid gave us nothing new."

"Evans?" Sasha repeated bemusedly, looking between Sam and Dean. A glance from Dean told Sam that letting Sasha in on what they'd learned was okay so he quickly went over all that they'd gleaned from their search of the computer. When he was finished Sasha was even more wide eyed than she had been upon being rescued.

"So the ghost of the guy that Natalie and Michelle killed is doing this?" She asked bluntly.

Sam shook his head as Dean took the turn away from the campus, the windshield wipers clacking back and forth as the rain continued in sheets. He was taking them away from the school, most likely back towards the motel.

"The psychic that we saw in Redding said David is at peace," he explained to her. "He'd have no cause for doing this. And even if it was him, why continue after knocking off both the people who killed him?"

"So what is it then?" Sasha asked the both of them.

Dean shrugged, his jaw clenching as he voiced the most frustrating aspect of the mystery. "No idea. We'd have to get close enough to the killer to figure out for sure."

"Well I just was," Sasha told him. "And trust me that thing was no ghost. It…it's human whatever it is."

Sam thought back to when he'd encountered the killer in the woods the night that Damon had been murdered. There had been nothing about the killer to suggest that he was anything other than human. He hadn't been fast or animalistic, so a monster of some type was obviously out of the question. And to his knowledge the only powers that came into play with the murders was that everyone involved, himself included, had experienced that same sort of languid dimness that made them completely unaware that they were taking part in an urban legend come to life.

But there was something else, something more to it than just that. It was pretty farfetched for an urban legend to take place, least of all one that so closely resembled the source material. And yet in every instance events had transpired almost perfectly. Damon had wanted him to go out to the woods alone with a car, Natalie had been away from her dorm, Michelle had been driving down a dark highway…was it so impossible to think that the killer possessed some sort of probability affecting power that caused the odds to be stacked in his favor?

"Whoever the killer is," Sam said slowly, "he's using magic of some kind. Everything is working out for him and there's no way that it's just a coincidence."

"He'd have to be using magic," Sasha replied with a sigh. "There's no way what happened to Parker was natural."

Sam frowned and looked around at her.

"Why what happened to Parker?"

Sasha took a deep breath and shuddered involuntarily. "Pop Rocks," she said after a pause and swallowed heavily as though suppressing a bad memory. "I found him in the bathroom. His…his guts were all over the place."

"Ah geez," Dean said, gritting his teeth. "How the hell did we miss that?"

"We were busy remember?" Sam reminded him with a small grin at the memory of what they'd been doing when the power had gone out.

"And that's adorable," Sasha told them with a roll of her eyes, "but this clinches it then. The killer's human using magic to make these legends a reality?"

Dean nodded. "That's gonna be what we'll have to go on for now. Ah shit," he cursed as he slowed the Impala. There was a road block up ahead, blocking the turn off into the town. They'd have to double back and take the longer route that went around the whole campus.

As Dean put the car in reverse, Sam became aware of a strange scent, one that seemed to be permeating the car. The more his senses became aware of the smell the more unpleasant it became until he, Sasha and Dean began to cough, covering their mouths.

"What the fuck is that?" Sasha said through a gag. "Did we hit something back there?"

His eyes watering, Sam shook his head, too nauseated to reply. Then, as his mind caught up with his senses he was able to place the odor in his memory. He'd been to his fair share of crypts and tombs with Dean and Dad over the years and knew that smell all too well. He paled and looked at Dean, who was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckled had turned white. He recognized the smell too.

"Pull over," Sam told him in a low voice. Dean shook his head, apparently too freaked out by the notion of what they would find if he did. "Dean," Sam said sharply, "pull the car over now." Stealing himself, Dean nodded and pulled the Impala over on the side of the road.

They were on the edge of the campus again, the distant dark shapes of the nearby buildings barely visible through the rain. As they got out of the car, Sam could just see Stanley Hall beyond a thick cluster of trees. He shivered involuntarily and put the hood of his sweater up. Together he, Dean and Sasha headed for the trunk of the Impala.

He glanced at the two of them for reassurance. Sasha nodded in silent response. In one deft movement, Sam popped the trunk of the car open and reeled back with others, covering his mouth and coughing. Sasha let out a scream and before either Sam or Dean could stop her took off running through the stormy night.

"SASHA GET BACK HERE!" Sam roared over the roar of the thunder and screaming of the wind but it was useless. He looked at Dean who was staring at the trunk of his car with wide eyed disbelief. "Dean c'mon!" Sam hissed, tugging on his brother's arm, "we've gotta follow her before something even worse happens!"

Dumbly Dean nodded. He and Sam turned away from the car and sprinted after Sasha who they could just see racing through the rain in the direction of Stanley Hall. Sam glanced over his shoulder one last time, feeling his heart pounding in his ears. Paul had been in the trunk of the car. Only he hadn't been alive. He'd been hacked to something resembling a steak filet but there was no denying it was him. He'd been wearing the same clothes he had been the last time they'd spoken.

Whoever the killer was, wherever he was, he was moving faster and faster and with only Sasha, Brenda and Dean left among the people closest to him Sam was not going to let the son of a bitch live much longer if he could help it.


	14. Chapter 14

Somehow they'd lost Sasha in the storm as she'd gone sprinting away from the car, although as Sam got closer to Stanley Hall, Dean keeping pace with him as they ran, he could still hear faint screams over the sounds of the rainfall, the rumble of thunder and the howl of the wind. Was Sasha really still screaming out of what they had seen in the trunk of the Impala or had somebody else found her in the darkness?

Sam forced himself not to think that way. Sasha was strong and smart and even if she had encountered anybody unpleasant he knew her well enough that she wouldn't just stay and scream. Besides this setting didn't fit any urban legends so there was no way the killer was something they had to concern themselves with…yet.

"Slow down!" Dean roared, throwing an arm out to catch Sam as they came up to the entrance of Stanley Hall, looming over the darkness and the storm like a twisted old sentinel, it's windows boarded up, and all completely dark…at least at first glance. As Sam stood there, peering up at the old house with his brother he noticed flashes of pale light filtering in between the boards at irregular intervals…somebody was in there using a flashlight…

"We've gotta check it out," Sam said to Dean grimly, even though he felt that it was a bad idea. Somebody was in there and he knew without knowing how that whoever it was would be involved with the murders, even if it wasn't the killer. Dean looked at him levelly, rain pouring down his face, his hair sopping wet. He shook his head slowly.

"No fucking way Sam," he said firmly. "There's no way of knowing who or what the hell is in there."

"It might be Sasha!" Sam pressed.

"What so she just found a flashlight on the ground? Sam she didn't have one when she left the car."

A flash of lightning illuminated Dean's face. Sam knew exactly why it was that Dean didn't want to go in there, at least not the both of them. The promise that he'd made in the car came back to him and Sam could have almost laughed at the idea that he'd vowed to Dean that he wouldn't die, as though he had any control over it. No matter what, he knew that whoever was in Stanley Hall needed their help and he wasn't going to stand out here and just let that person fall victim to the killer.

As though to emphasize that point a high pitched scream echoed from within the walls of the old dormitory house. Sam and Dean both looked towards the noise and Sam started forward but Dean grabbed him around the arm and pulled him back.

"NO SAM!" He shouted as a loud rumble of thunder almost drowned out his words. "I'm not letting you go in there. Not when you know this thing is going after you! You'd be walking right into it!"

"Well that's just too fucking bad Dean because I'll be god-damned if I'm going to let you go waltzing in by yourself either!" Sam said hotly. For a moment Dean's face looked completely broken and Sam realized that he was being too forceful. In a gentler tone he said "Look, I love you Dean and I know you don't want me to get hurt…but I know there's somebody in there that needs us okay? And if it is the killer…then we can put a stop to this right now!" He glared hard at Dean, determined to show him that he wasn't going to budge. For a moment Dean looked mutinous, torn between the option of keeping Sam safe and helping to prevent more deaths.

"Alright," he said grudgingly. "Alright we'll go in together but you better stay right by me Sammy…I'm not ready to lose you."

Sam gave Dean a grateful nod, kissed him quickly and then they headed up the lawn and to the front steps of Stanley Hall. The screams hadn't stopped and now that they were this close to the building Sam could hear whoever it was pleading with someone…it wasn't Sasha, but he recognized the voice over the din of the storm.

"Ah shit!" He spat as he and Dean mounted the rickety wooden stairs, "Dean it's Brenda! She's in there!"

"With the killer…" Dean finished his eyes on the front doors which had been hacked to splinters. Sam stared wide eyed at the wreckage for a moment. Brenda, sweet, bubbly Brenda was in there with the killer. He felt fire erupt in his chest and before Dean could stop him Sam brushed by him and stepped over the remainder of the door and into the front hall of the old, abandoned dorm building. Paul was dead, Sasha was nowhere to be found and now Brenda was being hunted by the murderer who had taken so much from him…he wasn't going to let someone else die just because the killer wasn't done playing with him.

"BRENDA!" Sam yelled as Dean scrambled through the door behind him.

"SAAAM! HELP!" He heard Brenda's distant scream. It was coming from upstairs. He glanced at Dean, both of them drenched from the storm that raged outside. Dean nodded at him and together they headed off towards the double stairs that swooped down from the upper levels of the dorm. Sam didn't care that he and Dean had left their guns in the Impala, or that Stanley Hall had been the sight of a massacre or that it was dark and that the killer was in here. All he knew was that he was no longer afraid…he was livid and when he found the person responsible for all of this he was going to kill them twice over.

"Careful," Dean said as they approached the stairs. Thunder rumbled from outside and all but shook the ancient foundations of the hall. The stairs were old and groaned under their combined weight as they slowly climbed up. Brenda let out a long scream of panic from somewhere over head…which died all at once. Sam and Dean stood stock still on the stairs, listening as the rain pounded against the sides of the building.

"Brenda…" Sam said with a moan. Dean put a firm hand on his shoulder to steady him but for the first time Sam did not feel the warm comfort of it. The killer had gotten to Brenda…there was nobody left among his friends besides Sasha who for all he knew was running around outside, confused and afraid.

"She could still be alright Sammy," Dean whispered comfortingly in his ear. "We'll check upstairs okay but we are not split-" Dean stopped dead mid-word, his eyes on something on the landing just ahead of them. Sam could see it too, something round and bulky that sat on the landing, barely visible through the darkness. He made a move to go up and investigate but this time Dean held him back. "Stay put," he said and for once Sam listened, watching as Dean carefully climbed up the remaining steps. He crouched down in front of the thing. At the same moment a flash of lightning illuminated the hall and Dean let out a yelp and leapt away from the thing on the top of the stairs.

"Oh shit…" he groaned. "Oh shit oh shit…"

"Dean what is it?" Sam demanded, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time. The second he was within an inch of the thing he immediately regretted it. Lightning flashed again and Sam felt his veins ice over. It was a human head, a vaguely familiar human head with short black hair, its grotesque dead face frozen in a revolting expression of shock.

"That's Michelle…" Sam said his voice as numb as his mind. "Michelle Mancini…" He turned to Dean who was giving the head a wide berth, disgust on his face. Sam didn't even want to know how the killer had gotten it from the authorities, although he wondered vaguely if the police ever had actually collected Michelle's head from the crime scene.

Something thumped down the stairs from the other end of the hall. Sam whirled around and let out a yelp of alarm. The killer was standing at the opposite end of the hall, the double ended axe swinging idly in one hand.

"SAM RUN!" Dean shouted and Sam didn't need telling twice. He turned on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction, following Dean as they ran half-blindly down the corridor, the killer hot on their hells, kicking Michelle's head unceremoniously down the stairs as he pursued them.

If Wexler had indeed survived the original massacre twenty-five years ago then he must have had a very good sense of direction, Sam realized as he and Dean scrambled through the darkness. The hallway here was narrow with sharp corners and opened into other rooms, some of which were locked. It was almost impossible to see where they were going without any kind of light source and with the killer on their heels Sam couldn't help but feel blind panic rising in his chest.

Dean was right behind him and pushed him on and on through the hall until Sam was sure they must have run around the whole of the second floor at least twice. Every now and then he would hear the sound of the killer's axe thudding into the walls behind them and he prayed to everything from God to Buddha that Dean wouldn't be on the receiving end of the blade the next time it sailed through the air.

Sam's heart sank the second he and Dean came across a part of the hall where the roof from above had caved in from years of neglect.

"FUCK!" Sam spat, wheeling around and grabbing Dean's arm as the killer turned around the corner behind them. He met his older brother's gaze. For some reason Dean didn't look panicked or afraid…he was rather calm and collected, his eyes showing a million thoughts and feelings at once in spite of the maniac at the end of the hall who was slowly approaching them, his footfalls thudding on the creaky wooden floorboards.

"I love you Sammy," Dean said, smiling softly at him. He pulled Sam in for a soft kiss…then shoved him from him bodily and through a door directly behind Sam that he hadn't noticed before. Sam's whole world turned upside down momentarily. He saw Dean slam the door shut, heard the lock click from the outside and heard his older brother charge down the hallway with a feral roar.

"DEAN!" Sam all but screamed, scrambling over broken tile and cobwebs and pounding on the heavy door, his mind numb with what had just happened. "DEAN NO!" His fists slammed into the wood, he threw his whole body weight against the door but it did not budge no matter how hard he tried. He heard the struggle, heard Dean cursing and yelling…and then he heard them both, Dean and the murderer, thud down the distant stairs and crash to the ground floor. "Dean…" Sam said numbly, sinking against the door as images of his brother broken on the dusty baseboards one floor below filled his head. Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, feeling the crushing sense of loss build up in him until all he had left to do was scream at the top of his lungs, "YOU SON OF A BITCH WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS!? YOU PROMISED!"

He knew why of course. It was such an incredibly Dean thing to do, always putting Sam first and thinking of how to keep him safe even though Sam was perfectly capable of looking after himself. Dean had probably had it planned this way in the back of his mind; if they couldn't take out the killer together then at least one of them would go out with the bastard. And of course Dean would make sure it wasn't Sam.

Dean was gone…after all the two of them had been through, after all they'd shared from the second Dean had turned up at Wexler's seminar to the time they'd spent together back at the frat house that seemed so long ago, Dean had still been ripped away from him, just like everything else. Sam wanted to be angry, wanted to scream and rave at Fate for being such a bitch and taking things from him all the time but he didn't have the energy to do anything other than sit numbly on the floor of the bathroom Dean had trapped him in and feel the sobs die as they tried to escape his lungs.

For a long time he simply sat there, staring at the pulled shower curtain opposite the door. The thunder was growing distant although lightning was still flashing at regular intervals and the rain and wind were still pounding against the walls of Stanley Hall. Then, as though being controlled by wires, Sam got to his feet and walked slowly forwards towards the shower, his feet crunching over broken floor tiles and the collected dust of decades. Without knowing why he yanked the curtain open and let out a groan of horror when he saw the crumpled body of Professor Wexler lying in the tub, large punctures in his torso and neck, his eyes bugging out of his wizened face.

Somehow the sight of the old man's body seemed to shake things back into place for Sam. Everybody was gone, even Wexler…but Sasha was still out there…yes…Sasha…Sasha who so far had never once crossed Sam's mind as a suspect, who could have had any opportunity to be at the scene of the crimes…hell she was the one who had told them about Parker…As much as it pained him to think about Sam couldn't help but play with the notion. After all, he and Dean had guessed before that the killer was somebody among Sam's group of friends.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam turned leaned over Wexler's body. There was a large gaping hole in the wall behind the bathtub, obviously having collapsed just like the ceiling. It was just large enough for him to be able to squeeze through. Taking a deep breath and trying to collect what little of his wits remained, Sam stepped over Wexler's body and shimmied himself sideways into the gap. Through the woodwork and piping and plaster had could see a light at the opposite end, light from another room next to the bathroom. If he could get there then he could find a way back downstairs to Dean and then they could go and apprehend Sasha if she was still alive after the fall… _Dean is still alive_, Sam made himself think over and over again as he shuffled through the tight space, ignoring the pain as he scraped his arms and legs on bits of nail and wood splinters.

Dean was okay because that's how it always was…Dean had to be okay because things had changed with them so much and Sam wasn't going to let him be lost that easily…even if he had to go to the afterlife and back to get Dean, he wouldn't accept that he was dead…ever.

A spider crawled over his hand, its bristly legs tickling his skin briefly but Sam did not stop moving for a second, sliding under a large beam that cut across the path through the wall. Somehow, through the exhaustion and fear and grief and anger he managed to extricate himself from the impromptu passage and tumbled into what at one point must have been a bedroom. The furniture was covered in white sheets, the window boarded up by thick wooden planks. Lightning flashed outside again and Sam looked back in spite of himself. He could just see Wexler's wide-eyed corpse staring at the ceiling of the bathroom and thought for a moment how ironic it was that the man escaped one massacre to be killed in another and in the same building no less.

He suddenly felt his vulnerability more than ever. They'd left all their weapons in the car and in the event that Sasha hadn't been killed in the fall down the stairs then Sam wanted to make sure he had something to protect himself and Dean with. He looked around the room and began tearing the sheets of the furniture, letting them fly through the air behind him like ghosts as he scoured relentlessly for some kind of weapon. He found it in a broken chair leg that had a nail sticking out of the end. It was basic but it would work.

To his relief the door to the room was unlocked and opened around the corner of the hallway from where he and Dean had been cornered. Silently, Sam walked back the way they'd come, keeping his eyes and ears alert just in case there was something more waiting for him. He kept his mind focused on finding Dean at the bottom of the stairs, of rousing him and holding him like he would never let him go, of finally getting the truth out of the bitch who had lied to him all these months. Then he and Dean would leave Stanford and start a life together away from all this crap, away from ghosts and werewolves and urban legends come to life.

But Sasha wasn't at the bottom of the stairs when Sam finally made it there a few moments later, the chair leg held in front of him like a baseball bat. Dean was though, his head lolled to the side, his arm at an awkward angle. Anxiously Sam crouched down next to Dean, feeling his hands shake as he prepared himself for the worst. He touched two fingers to Dean's neck and felt relief wash over him like a tidal wave. Dean had a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Thanking his lucky stars that Sasha hadn't decided to finish Dean off, Sam placed the chair leg on the floor and then gently, taking Dean by the under arms, he slid his older brother away from the bottom of the stairs, leaning him against a wall near the door.

He was going to finish this alone. Somehow he knew he always would. He gave Dean a quick kiss before pushing himself to his feet and collecting the chair leg from where he'd left it. Then, just as he'd put his foot on the bottom most step he heard a noise from above…footsteps. Somebody was walking around up there…Sasha hadn't left Stanley Hall yet.

Setting his jaw grimly Sam headed up the stairs but this time he went the direction the killer had come from and found that the hall on this side of the building was just as narrow and twisting as the one he and Dean had gone down, only the ceiling had held up on this side. At the end of the hall was a door that led to another flight of stairs, steeper than the ones on the ground floor. Slowly, Sam ascended, keeping the pointed nail on the end of the chair leg pointed outwards just in case Sasha was waiting around the corner.

The stairs led up to an attic room that was lit by a myriad of candles that were almost blinding after the dimness of the lower levels. And there, in the middle of the room on an old mattress on a wire spring frame lay Brenda, her arms splayed out at the side, her bushy hair fanned out behind her. She was wearing a tight black tank top and black jeans that Sam had never seen her in before. As Sam drew closer, feeling remorse and pity well up in him, he saw that there was a small medical cart next to the mattress and a bucket of ice on the floor.

Sam sank to the end of the bed, unable to look at Brenda's face. He couldn't believe that he'd let this happen to her or to any of his old friends, all of whom were now dead. Bitterly he thought of Sasha and wondered what she stood to gain from any of this and if all the clues and leads he and Dean had stumbled upon had just been red herrings she'd carefully laid out for them.

The mattress creaked behind him and Sam's face brightened momentarily at the thought of Brenda being alive. He turned to face her…and met her fist as it socked him hard in the temple, harder than was possible for someone of her strength and size. The last thing he saw was the psychotic smile on Brenda's face before everything went black and he passed out.

When Sam came to he was lying flat on his back on the mattress, his hands and feet bound by handcuffs, a piece of duct tape over his mouth. He struggled in vain to pull against his restraints but the metal of the cuffs only cut into his wrist. As he gradually regained more of his senses he realized that his shirt had been cut open, leaving his chest exposed and bare to the cold, musty air of the attic. He heard footsteps approaching and arching his head up he saw the killer approach, the hood of the parka up, obscuring the face for a moment until the light from the candles exposed the visage underneath.

Brenda grinned wickedly as she hovered over him and wrenched the parka off of her body and threw it into a dusty corner of the attic.

"Gotcha!" She said maniacally. Sam cursed at her, forgetting about the duct tape for a moment. "What's that?" Brenda said, putting a hand to her ear in mock deafness. "Doll I cannot understand a word you're saying." She stooped over him so that her face was within an inch of Sam's and it was then that he noticed her eyes, how unusual they were, the whites cracked with red vines, the irises normally blue now a pale shade of yellow.

"If I remove the tape," Brenda went on, stroking Sam's chest with her fingers like he was some kind of prized pony, "you've got to promise me that you're not going to scream m'kay? God knows I had enough of that with Sasha…" And Brenda waved her fingers slowly at him the same way she had when Sam had rescued Sasha from her clutches at the radio station. How the hell could he have ever suspected Sasha for a moment? Then again if Brenda had flown under the radar then he really couldn't have been blamed.

Mercilessly Brenda yanked the duct tape off Sam's lips and flounced away from him, standing at the foot of the mattress and eyeing him like a prize from a carnival game.

"You're fucking crazy!" Sam spat, squirming against the handcuffs again, hoping that he could find a way to free himself even though he knew that it was useless. Brenda only cackled at that and said, "I prefer the term eccentric…but yeah…I suppose you could say I'm a bit nutty right now."

Sam glared at her as she circled slowly around the mattress, those eyes never once wavering from him. In all his time hunting with Dean and his father he'd never seen eyes in anything like that before. He hadn't even come across that kind of description in any of the books he'd ever read when he'd do research for them…Tamara Fox had said that the spirit of the boy Natalie and Michelle had killed was at peace so that ruled him out…what the hell was Brenda using then?

Unable to stand it any longer Sam burst out, "What the fuck are you?!"

Brenda laughed again. "What?" She repeated in a sing-song voice, "what, what, WHAT, WHAT, WHAAAAT? You wanna know what? Well I'll tell you Mister _Thang_!" She jabbed Sam hard in the stomach. "God it's pathetic," she went on, scratching her hair as though it were suddenly over taken by lice. "My sisters and I…people used to fear us Sammy boy. They used to live by us and they would die by us if we pleased…but nooooo. Christianity came and the next thing I know I'm being summoned by grieving widows who want revenge for the deaths of their husbands like some kind of fucking genie…"

For a moment Sam had no idea what Brenda, or rather the thing in control of Brenda, was talking about. Then, from somewhere in the deep recesses of his memory he remembered the passage he'd read that day in the library…the Furies…people could summon them to get revenge for transgressions against them…He recalled that Tamara had told him and Dean that the thing behind the murders was ancient…

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Sam groaned, not believing how stupid he had been. If he'd only been more open minded then he could have figured this whole thing out.

"DING DING DING DING!" Brenda crowed. "Y'know Sam I owe it to you actually. All those false leads really let me have more fun than I've had in a while. And hey…it sure as hell was funny watching you get stuck in the middle of all the mess." She put on an exaggerated sad face and said, "Poor widdle Sammy was so scared weren't you?"

"You're Tisiphone then," Sam said, ignoring the jab.

"Yes indeedy!" The Fury said with a laugh. "Poor little Brenda…she had no clue what she was getting into when she turned to me, and all because her little old fiancé got run off the road by that ginger ditz and her stupid friend."

"David Evans…" Sam said numbly. "He was…"

"Fraid so!" Tisiphone said as she held Brenda's pendant out from her neck, showing Sam the ring tied to the chain. "Poor kid proposed to Brenda with this little ring a few days before Natalie and Michelle thought they'd go messing with urban legends. She came to me then Sam, wanting revenge and I thought 'Now here's a kid who knows her shit. After all it's been so long since someone came and paid me a visit.'" Tisiphone pouted and stamped her foot on the ground impatiently. "Do you know how fucked up that can make you Sam? To have all this power and nobody to act through for decades?"

"Oh I'm so sorry," Sam said bitterly. "Why all the others then? Brenda only knew of Natalie and Michelle at that point…why drag everyone else into this?"

"Because Sammy," Tisiphone said innocently, "that was all before you showed up on campus. I was more than happy to off Natalie and Michelle for Brenda. And hell a good old urban legend style killing is sure to get me a lot of credit in the spirit world, not to mention a shit ton of press coverage for Brenda." Tisiphone was circling around the bed again, but this time she wasn't looking at Sam, she was staring ahead, her eyes out of focus as though recalling painful memories.

"Brenda had to wait a bit," the Fury went on, "to make sure that Natalie was completely trusting before she struck…thing is, she waited too long because that's when you showed up." She smiled, her lips curling gloatingly as she went on, "I couldn't believe it…you, the special little tyke all grown up, had fallen right under my nose. Well…let's just say I really couldn't help myself after I offed Michelle…"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sam demanded. "What the hell is so special about me huh?"

Tisiphone looked down at him, bewildered for a moment. Then she laughed again, the cackle echoing off the walls of the attic. "You don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW! Oh my God you're father really was a fucking idiot on top of all his other blistering personality traits." She crouched down next to Sam and began to stroke his hair. Sam squirmed, attempting to get out of her reach but all he succeeded in doing was scraping his wrist against the handcuffs. "You're special Sam," Tisiphone continued in an almost loving tone, "very special…you think those visions of yours are just coincidence? You think Mommy Dearest's little ceiling barbecue was just a random attack? God you're clueless…" She stood up then and stalked to the opposite side of the bed where the medical tray and ice bucket were.

Sam's mind was racing. His mother's death had always been just a random demon killing to him because that's all it had ever been to his father and to Dean. And as for his visions…he'd always pegged it down to just being psychic as a result of exposure to the supernatural world. Was Tisiphone telling the truth or was she just trying to get a rise out of him by lying?

"It doesn't matter anyway," the Fury said as she idly examined several scalpels on the tray, "you're gonna be dead in a few minutes and that'll leave me free to go after Sasha…I think I'll make her wait a few years…she can be the William Wexler of the Stanford Urban Legend Massacre. Hey what did you think of Wexler by the way?" Tisiphone asked him conversationally. "Really obscure urban legend…something about slicing people's ankles and then running them over the emergency spikes."

She'd go after Sasha…but not Dean. The only mercy in all this was that the bitch seemed to think his brother had actually died in that fall. As though to confirm his thoughts Tisiphone added, "Shame about your brother…lover…what the fuck ever he was to you…I don't think there are any urban legends about someone falling down the stairs…"

"Why urban legends?" Sam asked, stalling for time. If there was one thing he gathered about the Fury so far it was that she enjoyed talking about herself.

"There's power in belief Little Sammy," Tisiphone said with a smirk. "People start believing that these legends are real and that gives them power…and guess what? Since I orchestrated everything that sort of means I get a slice of that belief even if the shmuck's talking about this shit don't even knew who I am." She laughed to herself and added, "Poor Brenda had no idea at first. She didn't seem to mind when I kept popping all over the county to do some dirty work."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I can be wherever the legend needs me to be," Tisiphone replied with another smirk of satisfaction.

"So Brenda was just a means to an end." Sam said flatly and the Fury shrugged. "Fraid so," she said as she pulled out a razor sharp scalpel. "Shame that you and Dean or God forbid Sasha didn't figure it out...there were signs all over the place but then again you were all so convinced that it was Parker…then David Evans…then Wexler that none of you even noticed no matter how hard she tried to hint."

And Sam remembered all the signs with an agonizing feeling of stupidity. Brenda's limp after he'd attacked her the night of Damon's murder, her constant tiredness…hell even half of the things she'd said to them were all subtle signs. She might have even checked out The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends as a red flag and he'd never even noticed.

"Anyway enough of the Q-and-A," Tisiphone said with a grin. Then she leaned over Sam, bracing herself with one arm to show him the scalpel. "Time for my favorite urban legend; The Kidney Heist. I'm sure you've heard this one kiddo; Guy goes to a party and meets a girl who puts something in his drink. BOOM!" Her eyes flashed psychotically and Sam tried to keep his face as far from hers as possible. "He's out like a light," Tisiphone went on with a leer. "The next thing you know he wakes up in a bathtub full of ice to find out that his kidney's been removed. Supposedly the sell them on the black market…I don't think it's ever happened but then again," the Fury laughed in a self-satisfied way, "neither did any of this shit before I came into the picture."

Slowly she trailed the scalpel down Sam's bare chest and Sam couldn't help but shake in fear at the idea of what was about to happen. "Brenda…" He said weakly in a last ditch attempt to reach the person inside but the Fury only shook her head.

"Brenda doesn't live here right now…but she's got a front row seat." Tisiphone shook the ring on the chain and Sam suddenly remembered all the times that he'd seen Brenda playing with it…it had always been when they were talking about the murders. Everything had a weakness, that was the one thing he'd had drilled into him when he'd been hunting with his father and Dean…the psycho demi-goddess had to have one to and Sam had a hunch as to what it was…if only he could break free of the restraints.

He knew it was useless, no matter how hard he shook at the cuffs it did him no good.

"Mustn't struggle Sammy," Tisiphone said as she played the tip of the scalpel across his abdomen. "It makes an even bigger mess." Then with a wild smile she plunged the blade into Sam's body. Sam let out a strangled yell of pain as he felt the scalpel sever skin and nerves and plunge into something soft inside of his body.

"Whoops," Tisiphone said as she removed the blade. "Was that the kidney or the liver? I can never tell. Brenda was always such a dope in anatomy. Ah well. I'm not really fussy about where I stick this to be honest with you." And again she sunk the scalpel into Sam's body. Sam felt tears prickle behind his eyes as pain rode over all other sensations but he refused to let them fall. He was going to die here and Dean didn't even know who the killer was. Brenda…no…Tisiphone would go free and Dean would be too destroyed at Sam's death to hunt her down.

He'd broken his promise to his brother after all…Once more the scalpel plunged into his body he willed himself to open his eyes and watch as the blood poured out of him. He wasn't going to die, shaking and crying like some kid. He was going to die with honor no matter how much pain the Fury put him through. He met her evil gaze levelly with all his strength, trying hard not to think about the blood spilling out of him.

Tisiphone cocked her head to the side in confusion at his defiance. Then she raised the scalpel once more, prepared to make a fourth incision, the one that Sam knew would open him up completely when the door behind her burst open and the noise of a gun going off split the air. Tisiphone gasped and rolled out of the way and Sam, looking towards the door saw the last person in the world he expected standing there, holding one of Dean's shotguns directly at the Fury.

"Don't move you psycho bitch!" Sasha shrieked. Her hair was completely dishevelled, her clothes torn and she was sopping wet but her eyes were fixed on Tisiphone with such hatred and determination that Sam was surprised the bitch's hair wasn't burning.

"Oh great," Tisiphone groaned, "rent-a-whore to the rescue."

"Shut the fuck up Brenda!" Sasha yelled, cocking he shotgun as she walked slowly into the room, never once letting the Fury out of her sight.

"That's not Brenda…" Sam said weakly.

"Sam shut up and save your strength," Sasha said darkly and then added to Tisiphone, "Drop the knife and let him go."

Tisiphone looked like a spoiled child being punished but she let the scalpel drop and fished a key from inside the pocket of the jumpsuit. Slowly, her gaze level on Sasha who did not let the shotgun drop for a moment she walked over to Sam and undid first one handcuff and then another, her eyes flicking to the medical tray which had an assortment of other dangerous surgical objects on it for her to choose from. Sam was a microsecond too late. Tisiphone grabbed the tray and threw it at Sasha, who yelped and ducked out of the way as scalpels and knives went flying towards her and clattering to the ground.

The Fury laughed in delight and stooped to pick up a scalpel, leaving Sam free to think fast. He sat up; wincing through the strain it put on his open wound. Instantly he began working at the cuffs that bound his feet. Tisiphone, having collected yet another knife, stood up and pushed him back down.

"Not so fast Sammy," she said with a wicked smile. "Operation's not over yet." The next second she let out a scream and toppled backwards, knocking the cart over. Sasha had also found a scalpel and crawling on the ground had stabbed the Fury in the back of the leg. Tisiphone, despite being in shock and pain, collected herself quickly and pulled Sasha back by her hair but not before Sam managed to swipe the blonde's scalpel from her. As the two woman wrestled aggressively on the wooden floor, Sam worked quickly at the cuffs with the blade, freeing himself in a matter of seconds and sliding off the bed, his head spinning through a haze of pain.

He grabbed Tisiphone by the back of her wild hair and threw her against the side of the bed. She groaned and slid to the floor, giving Sam the opportunity to tend to Sasha, who was crumpled in a heap.

"Sash," he said weakly, helping her up and gritting his teeth as his lower torso screamed in pain at the strain he was putting on it. Sasha was bleeding just under the shoulder from where the Fury had stabbed her but she seemed alright.

"Careful she's not out," Sasha said as she got to her feet. Sam looked over her shoulder and saw that Tisiphone was stirring feebly. "What the fuck is she Sam?"

"I'll…explain later," Sam said, trying hard to keep a grip on himself as he clutched a hand to the bleeding wound. "We…we need to get Dean…there's gotta be a way to exorcise that thing from Brenda…" At that moment Tisiphone lunged forward and tackled Sam to the ground. Sasha was thrown off balance and went staggering back. Sam attempted to fight back but the Fury jabbed two fingers into the freshest of the wounds she'd inflicted upon him. This time Sam couldn't help but scream as white hot pain blinded him.

Sasha lunged at Tisiphone, wrapping both hands around her neck and pressing down with all her strength. The Fury spluttered and struggled but did not remove her fingers from Sam's body. Through the pain and the screams Sam managed to cough out, "S-Sasha…the…the necklace…take it off!" And Sasha, understanding for the first time wrapped her fingers around the chain, yanked it off Brenda's neck and threw it towards the other side of the room.

There was a rush of unseen energy. Brenda's cries of rage turned into screams of panic and fear as she removed her fingers from Sam's abdomen and staggered backwards, choking and sobbing as she clutched at her hair. Sam felt himself fading fast but had just enough sense to push himself up to a sitting position.

Sasha was crouched in between him and Brenda, looking completely confused as to what to do next, not knowing who to give comfort to but at that moment Sam did not care about comfort. His gaze as weak as it was travelled to the side of the room where Sasha had thrown Brenda's necklace. As he sat there slumped against the wall he saw the thing begin to vibrate violently against the floorboards, glowing a violent orange.

"Sasha…Brenda get out of here," Sam said, his breathing becoming labored. No matter what happened he wasn't going to let the two of them face the real Fury when she came out of her vessel. Sasha looked up at Sam in confusion and then turned and saw the necklace as well. She let out a gasp and tried to get Brenda to come round but the other woman was still a hysteric wreck, shaking violently with her hands clutching at her hair.

"You have to get out of here!" Sam said through gritted teeth. "Both of you just go! I'll be fine. I can take-" He was cut off the next moment by a shout from the lower levels. Had he imagined it or was somebody calling his name? He listened for a moment, his eyes still on the necklace which was practically levitating off the ground and emitting a faint humming sound. Over that noise though there was no mistaking the sound of somebody frantically calling his name.

"SAM?! SAMMY WHERE ARE YOU!?"

"DEAN!" Sam shouted with all the strength he had left. "DEAN WE'RE IN THE ATTIC!" _Please hurry, _he thought desperately. The necklace was now hovering off the ground and Sam could see the center of the ring beginning to expand, a fiery void of energy forming in the middle. Tisiphone was going to make her real self known and he didn't know if he could keep Sasha and Brenda safe from the Fury at full power. Sasha was pulling on Brenda's arm, trying to get her to standing up but Brenda seemed too far gone to notice anything and it was a small wonder. Tisiphone had said Brenda was watching, that she had always been watching whenever the Fury was in control…she may not have committed any of the murders but she'd seen them…

A face appeared in the center of the ring, a twisted, gnarled oddly reptilian face that leered out at Sam who could barely see it as the blackness began creeping in. He could feel warm blood, his own blood, spilling through his fingers and was dimly aware of the sounds of somebody charging up the stairs. He glanced through heavy lids to the door and smiled stupidly when she saw Dean there, clutching at his arm. For a moment his brother looked completely dumbfounded at the scene of carnage. His strength ebbing, Sam raised an arm that felt heavy as lead and pointed at the necklace.

Dean stared at it, his mouth agape then all at once he understood. He stooped, and despite his injured arm picked up the shotgun that Sasha had used and without so much as a pause he blasted Brenda's ring to smithereens. A shriek, primal and savage emanated from the centre as the metal burst to bits. The portal vanished and the chain fell to the floor.

Dean stepped around Sasha and Brenda, muttering something to them that Sam couldn't hear. Then he crouched down next to him, his hands shaking as he examined Sam's injury. He was talking to him in an anxious voice but Sam was beyond understanding anything he said. He smiled sleepily at Dean who had once more come to save him.

"I really love you," Sam said thickly, before the warm darkness wrapped him round once again.


	15. Chapter 15

Through the blackness Sam heard the sounds of steady beeping. He could smell disinfectant and for some reason rubbing alcohol. The air around him was cool even though he felt snug and warm in a soft blanket. There was something pinching into his arm. If this was what heaven was like then he wanted his money back. The beeping grew louder as he became fully lucid and he cracked an eye open.

It was white in here but he wasn't in heaven. He was in a hospital room, lying on a bed in a hospital gown with an IV in his arm. Gingerly, with his free arm he touched the spot on his abdomen where Tisiphone had stabbed him with the scalpel. He felt bandages through the thin material of the hospital gown.

So he was alive after all. He smiled to himself and was prepared to close his eyes and go back to sleep when he heard another noise over the sound of the heart monitor. It was a grunting, breathing sound. Turning his head gingerly to the side Sam saw with a rush of overwhelming happiness that Dean was asleep in the chair next to him, his arm in a cast, his head lolling on his shoulder. His face looked incredibly peaceful despite a few scratches and Sam felt perfectly content to simply lay there and memorize every inch of Dean's face.

They'd made it through, once again thanks to Dean showing up in the nick of time. Sam shuddered when he thought of what might have happened if Dean hadn't come up to the attic in time, remembering that horrible face that had formed in the center of Brenda's old engagement ring. He didn't need a vivid imagination to know that Tisiphone would have wreaked bloody havoc if she'd been able to manifest in even the slightest way.

The lights in the room were dim which meant that it was probably after hours. There was a clock on the wall over the door showing the time to be five in the morning. It had been after midnight when he and Dean had gone rushing into Stanley Hall…they must have been here for hours. Groaning he rubbed at his head and sat up straighter in his bed. He glanced around and saw to his relief that the he'd been given a private hospital room.

He wondered what had become of Sasha and Brenda…poor Brenda. If she wasn't held responsible for the murders then she would most likely spend the rest of her days in psychiatric care after all Tisiphone had done through her. It wasn't fair. He knew the real Brenda to be a warm, if slightly annoying person and she didn't deserve to be punished for the Fury's actions.

Sam sighed and leaned his head further back into the pillows, staring at the plain wall across from him. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall back to sleep but couldn't, not with his mind racing like this. The very thought of Tisiphone leaving Brenda to deal with her mess was enough to get his pulse pumping. The monitor began to pick up and Sam forced himself to calm down. He would deal with his anger later.

"Sammy…?" A groggy voice said from next to him. Looking over Sam saw Dean waking from his sleep, his gaze falling on the heart monitor for a moment. He stood up and came closer, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed and reaching out to touch the side of his face with his good hand. "You okay? Want me to call the nurse?"

Sam smiled softly at Dean and held his brother's hand to the side of his face with his own, loving the warm feeling of it just being there.

"M'alright," Sam said. "Just got a bit pissed thinking about that Fury getting away with what she did to Brenda."

"You're gonna have to explain it all to me baby," Dean said gently. "I didn't have time to chat with Brenda or Sasha even before Reese showed up with the paramedics."

"Reese?"

Dean nodded. "That's where Sasha went. She called Reese, told her to be at Stanley Hall and then came back with that shotgun from the car. Saved our asses too." He chuckled and then his face darkened. "Sammy if she hadn't been there-"

"Don't think about it," Sam said firmly. "What matters is that she was." He took a deep breath and explained everything to Dean, about how Brenda had went to Tisiphone after David Evans had been killed by Natalie and Michelle, about how the Fury had taken an interest in going after Sam the second he'd set foot on campus. He left out the part where she'd said he was special because he honestly didn't want to explore that avenue at the moment.

Dean shook his head. "Jesus…so she's really gone then?"

"I think so…" Sam said slowly. "She said she'd been weak before Brenda came along…I think these killings were helping her somehow but you severed her tie with Brenda and unless somebody else gets it into their head to go summoning Ancient Greek demons I highly doubt we'll be hearing from her again."

"Or anything else," Dean said, his eyes holding Sam's. Sam blinked in surprised confusion for a moment, wondering what in the world Dean could mean. Dean, sensing that Sam wasn't quite strong enough to comprehend what he meant began, "Well…we solved the murders and got rid of the monster…that's all that Tamara said we should do remember?"

Catching up Sam sat up straighter and said, "Dean…are…are you saying you don't want to go find Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "No Sammy. I don't. I think he can take care of himself well enough…Besides this whole damn thing has been enough excitement for me." He glanced down at Sam's abdomen where the bandages were, a haunted look passing over his face. Sam grasped Dean's chin in his hand and forced him to look up. When he met Sam's gaze Sam was surprised to see tears welled up in his brother's eyes.

"I'm fine," Sam re-assured him with a smile. "See? Completely alive."

"I didn't think you were going to make it," Dean said shakily. "You'd…you'd lost so much blood by the time the paramedics got there Sammy…I thought you were gonna leave me this time."

"I couldn't," Sam said. "I promised remember?"

Dean laughed despite the tears sliding down his face. Sam leaned forward and captured his brother's lips with his own for a fierce kiss that was all about letting Dean know that he was there and that he wasn't going anywhere. Dean pulled Sam close to him with his good arm, holding him close as though he would never let go. It was only when Sam realized that his quickening pulse was making the heart monitor go berserk that he grudgingly peeled his lips off of Dean's.

"Are we really going to go away?" Sam asked him.

Dean nodded, grasping Sam's hand tightly with his good one. He met Sam's eyes with a blazing look and said, "Anywhere you want baby. Long as it's you and me I'm good to go to the other side of the world."

Sam leaned back into his pillows and smiled up at the ceiling as Dean crawled back into his chair. He closed his eyes, listening happily as Dean hummed Patience by Guns N' Roses for him. For the first time in a long time, Sam slept peacefully.

It was five days before Sam left the hospital in the college town. His was the longest stay out of those who had survived what the media was now dubbing the Urban Legend Massacre. Sasha had been cleared to go the night they'd been admitted, as had Brenda and Dean but the doctors had wanted to make sure that Sam was completely fit.

Dean only ever left Sam's room to use the bathroom or else get them snacks from the vending machine. He was there when Sasha came to see him the day after the night at Stanley Hall, her shoulder bandaged, her arm in sling, her face scratched but otherwise completely recovered.

"You're like a cat with nine lives," she said as she fussed with the corner of his hospital blanket.

"I'm grateful for that," Dean said with a smile as he tossed a corn chip through the air for Sam to catch in his mouth.

Sasha shuddered and said, "I can't believe this…any of it…it all just seems so unreal that I made it out of this y'know?"

"You'll get used to it," Sam said with a wry grin. He of course had asked her about Brenda, which was when he'd learned that Dean, Sasha and Reese had all come together to cover up the events. It was impossible for the police to place Brenda at any of the murders since she hadn't left any evidence at the crime scenes while under Tisiphone's influence.

In the end they'd told the police that Sam, Dean and Sasha had fled the frat party after finding Parker dead from an accidental ingestion of toilet bowl cleaner. Most of the people who'd gone to the party couldn't properly remember hearing Sasha screaming over the radio so that took care of that problem.

The cops had ruled Wexler the prime suspect in the end, deciding that he'd gone crazed as a result of the anniversary of the original Stanley Hall murders, killed people in the style of the subject he was teaching in his seminar and eventually killing himself after attempting to murder Sam, Sasha, Dean and Brenda.

Sam didn't feel entirely right about putting the blame on an innocent man but he changed his mind the day he'd left the hospital. He and Dean had been cleared to go to the station and get the Impala which had been towed away as evidence much to Dean's horror. As he, Dean and Sasha were leaving the hospital Sam saw Brenda sitting at a bench in the hospital courtyard looking completely broken.

"Just a sec," he said to Dean and Sasha before he jogged over to Brenda. He'd had his bandages changed that day although his injuries had healed rather well. Tisiphone hadn't stabbed anything vital much to his relief and the doctors were confident he would be healed up in a few weeks.

Brenda looked up at him as he approached her and for a second Sam thought she was going to run away like a frightened rabbit but thankfully she didn't, instead looking away from him.

"Brenda," Sam said gently as he sat down next to her, "Don't beat yourself up okay?"

"Why not?" Brenda said in a low voice. "This whole thing was my fault and don't try to pretend like it's not Sam. If I hadn't asked Tisiphone's help in getting revenge on Natalie and Michelle she never would have done all of this."

"You didn't know what you were getting into," Sam said.

Brenda shook her head. "That doesn't excuse it Sam. It was pre-meditative. I went to her knowing exactly what I wanted: for her to kill Natalie and Michelle the way they'd killed David…"

"You're not sad that they're dead," Sam said with a sage nod and Brenda laughed hollowly.

"Would you be sad if someone killed Dean and then they died too?" She asked bitterly.

Sam shook his head. "I guess not. I wasn't saying that you should be Brenda. I knew Natalie before I knew what she did to David and I knew you before I knew what you did to Natalie. That's what I'm going to remember about you. Not that you wanted blood."

"Well you'll be believing in a lie," Brenda muttered. "I mean…okay that is who I was Sam…it really was…but behind that I was just so mad."

"And that's understandable," Sam said shortly. He sighed and then said, "When I was sixteen Dean and I helped our Dad with a hunt involving these three boys who were using the remains of a ghost to get revenge on these punks who kept bullying them. It was malicious but the funny thing is they didn't actually know that it was working…not until we tracked them down. They thought the bullies deaths were just part of karma."

He smiled dryly at Brenda who was listening intently despite the fact that she wasn't meeting his gaze.

"Did you actually think Tisiphone was real Brenda?" Sam asked her and after a moment's pause Brenda shook her head.

"Not until Michelle was dead…" She said softly. "I came to on that stretch of highway with the axe and when I saw her body…well…I knew that it had worked. And I wasn't freaked out or anything…it kind of felt good…" She took a shaky breath and then said, "When Damon died though…Sam I tried everything to figure out how to get rid of her but I could never take the necklace off…it's like she wouldn't let me…"

"Well then there you go," Sam said with a smile. "You were just as much a victim as everyone else. Now are you going to mope about it for the rest of your life or are you going to try and move on and do something constructive with what happened?"

Brenda thought for a moment and Sam took the opportunity to add, "Tisiphone and you are two separate beings Brenda. Yeah you wanted revenge but who the hell doesn't? I know you wouldn't have hurt anybody else and I know that Sasha and Dean feel that way too."

Brenda turned to him, her eyes bright with tears. Sam put a comforting hand on her shoulder and said, "It's up to you Brenda. I can't make you not blame yourself." He gave her one last bracing smile and then got to his feet and walked back to Dean and Sasha, leaving Brenda sitting here in quiet contemplation.

To say that Dean was relieved that the Impala hadn't been messed with during the investigation would have been a gross understatement. The CSI crew had been good enough to send the car to a car wash and when he and Dean got into their old vehicle it seemed as familiar as ever as though there had never been any dead body in the trunk.

Dean drove Sasha back to the college town where she would be talking her own car back home to San Francisco. Before leaving she gave both Sam and Dean long, tight hugs.

"I'm never going to forget you two," she said with a watery smile. "I used to think all I was good for was that stupid radio show but you guys…well let's just say you've opened my eyes."

"Don't go looking for trouble," Dean advised her. "We're staying the hell away from it from now on that's for sure."

Sasha laughed. "I'd like my life to be trouble free for as long as possible," she told him. Then, giving them a bracing look she added, "I know I don't have to say this but make sure you take care of each other alright? Especially since I won't be there with a shotgun to save your asses again."

"He always takes good care of me," Sam said with a warm look at his brother. "What are you going to do now Sash?" He asked her.

Sasha thought for a moment and then smiled and shrugged. "Maybe I'll start my own midnight radio show that deals with the world of the supernatural." Then she frowned and said, "Or maybe I'll write a book and dedicate to the memory of everyone who died. Paul was going to do that."

"Sounds safer than the radio station," Dean said with a grin. "Just make sure that Sammy and I get a slice of the profit alright?"

Sasha laughed and hugged them both again before she got into her car and drove away. Sam watched her go, feeling momentarily lonely without her there. She'd been such a constant in his life at Stanford and the idea of her not being there among all the other friends he'd come to know made him feel shockingly empty inside.

Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"We haven't heard the last of her," he told Sam softly. "People like her…they never leave you for very long Sammy."

Sam smiled up at him.

"I know that for sure," he said with a smile before he gave Dean a quick kiss and got into the passenger side of the Impala.

They drove out of California and towards Oregon, keeping away from the back roads just as a precaution. Eventually they stopped at a motel for the night. They couldn't really do anything as intense as they'd done in the frat house due to Sam's injuries, but that didn't really matter too much.

Sam was lying on the bed, watching a late night cartoon on TV while Dean showered. He'd already cleaned himself up and hadn't bothered to put his clothes on, even though it was fairly cool in the room. Somehow it felt a little like old times, although he felt much safer knowing that there was no threat of Dad coming home at any moment and catching them in the act.

Dean came out of the shower a few moments later, tossing his towel aside and not bothering to dress either. He turned the lights out and then stood over the bed for a moment, looking down at Sam lovingly.

"Anybody ever told you how damn beautiful you are Sam?" He asked.

Sam chuckled. "Everybody does," he said teasingly. "But then they always meet you and then I'm left feeling like the ugly duckling."

Dean grinned and slid into bed beside Sam, wrapping his arms around his brother. Sam snuggled up to Dean gratefully and kissed him on the side of the face.

"You're not gonna heal up fast enough," Dean mumbled as his hand snaked over Sam's scars and then lower, his fingers ghosting over Sam's cock.

Sam moaned a little, grinding his hips, pushing his hardening length into Dean's hand.

"There's always other stuff we can do," he said breathlessly.

Dean grinned lasciviously down at him. "So it'll be just like before then," he said. "Before you turned eighteen. Damn…I dunno if I can go that long without getting a piece of your ass again Sammy." Sam giggled and then gasped as Dean grasped him firmly in his hand. He could feel Dean getting hard beside him.

"Patience is a virtue," Sam whispered as Dean's hand travelled the length of him.

Dean's grin only widened and he said in a low, hungry voice, "Virtue is something we've never had little brother."

Later, when they were both spent and curled up together, Sam's head resting against Dean's chest as he breathed evenly in his sleep, Sam thought about how fast everything had changed. It seemed as though he'd gone through hell twice over, first with losing Dean then with the murders happening at Stanford.

And now here he was, back where he had always wanted to be. That familiar feeling of safety that he hadn't felt since he was a teenager returned to him as he buried his face in Dean's chest and closed his eyes.

They'd be okay as long as they were together.

That's how it had always been with them.


End file.
